Kept Boy, Hockey RPS, NC-17, 2/2

Dec 04, 2009 19:27

Title: Kept Man
Author: creepy_crawly
Pairing: Derick Brassard/Nikita Filatov
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount:
Kink: BDSM
Notes/Warnings: This involves guys-real guys-in compromising, kinky situations. Not that I have any idea if they’d actually do it or not. But I do have a dirty, dirty mind.Many thank yous to Megan and Skye for reading through this, finding the mistakes I made (undoubtedly many), and not telling me that I am a failcakes at life!)
Summary: Nikita needs a Master…and Derick’s not that good at resisting… (Shamelessly written for kink_bigbang.)
Artist: Zabby



Nikita stood an obedient step behind his Master, peering out of the corners of his eyes to see the leather and latex and metal hanging from the walls. He had passed this small, brick-face building every day on his way to the practice facility, but he never would have guessed that it housed such a collection of bondage tools and instruments. He wondered how his Master had known.

Derick smiled, noticing his young slave’s interest. Nikita, he knew, was looking forward to feeling the sting and the burn of the paddle on his skin; Derick was looking forward to seeing the contrasts of his pale, white skin with the flaming red of a well-done paddling. He was talented with a whip or flogger, and he knew it. He’d spent time honing those skills, and he would admit it: he was looking forward to practicing them on someone as appreciative as Nikita.

“Mr Brassard,” a tall, dark woman said quietly, stepping into the room from a small backroom. “How may I help you?”

Derick placed a possessive hand on Nikita’s shoulder and drew him forward, tucking him against his body. “My slave,” he replied, “is in need of some bonds.”

“To match the collar?” the woman inquired, raising an eyebrow as she looked Nikita up and down. “It doesn’t seem your style, love.”

The young Canadian paused, eyeing Nikita for a moment. “Let’s get him a new collar, as well.” He pushed the slim man down into a kneeling position in front of him. “I want him beautiful, Mara.”

“That will be my pleasure,” the woman said, grinning slightly. “Posture?”

“Perfect,” Derick replied, smug. “Little one, present.”

Ducking his head, Nikita easily slid into his presentation posture. His arms folded behind him, hands clasping just below his elbow. His back was ramrod straight, and his chin tucked perfectly. He was good at this, and he knew it-he didn’t need to see the Mistress to know that she was impressed by his submission.

“His posture is perfect,” Mara agreed, stalking around to stand behind Nikita’s kneeling form. “Black leather would be gorgeous on his skin. Silver adornments, I believe. D-rings or O-rings?”

“D,” Derick said sharply.

“Ah, so the young Master has a preference,” Mara chuckled. She stooped and stroked a hand down the line of Nikita’s spine, then yanked her hand quickly back upwards, tangling her fingers in Nikita’s hair. She used her tight grip to force his head back, revealing the pale column of his throat.

The slim fingers of her other hand slid underneath the collar. “A thinner collar, I believe,” she murmured. Looking into Nikita’s eyes, she demanded, “a gift from your last master, slave?”

Nikita’s eyes darted to where his Master stood. The muscular man nodded, and so he replied, “yes, Mistress.”

She nodded. “We’ll get you one more suited to yourself, then. Are your nipples pierced, boy?”

“No, Mistress.”

Derick interrupted. “I do want clamps, though.” He stroked Nikita’s mahogany fringe, his fingertips teasing across the smooth skin of his forehead. “He is…responsive.”

The woman nodded, releasing the Russian’s body. “I’ve got just the thing,” she said. Her footsteps were quick as she made her way to the back of the store. She lifted something off of the rack on the back wall. “A full harness,” she announced. “Matching cuffs and bonds. If you like them, I can have them sized for your slave.”

Derick eyed the dark leather. Reaching forward, he took the harness from her. The cool leather was soft and smooth, and it was a comfortable weight in his hands. The metal links that held the leather straps together clinked softly as they swayed and moved.

Watching Nikita, he could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. His eyes snuck down, and he could see the forming tent in the beautiful man’s jeans. The harness excited his little sub. Very well. He smirked. “So, little one,” he inquired softly, “do you like this one?”

Nikita licked his lips, and then whispered, “I… I believe such a harness would make me… make me beautiful for my Master’s eyes,” he answered. There was a soft, quiet stutter in his breath.

Derick caught it. His smirk grew. “Please size it for him,” he told Mara. He nodded to Nikita. “Stand up. Take your shirt off, little one.”

Nikita rose to his feet in one smooth, seamless motion. He quickly began to unbutton his button-down shirt, and then shrugged it off. Next, he peeled the tight, stone-washed cotton tee-shirt off. When his chest was bare, he folded the fabric together and set the bundle down on the floor.

“Remove the collar,” Mara instructed.

Nikita’s eyes, panicked, darted to the tall man…

Who understood his fright. “It’s okay, little one,” he whispered. He stepped behind Nikita, stroking a calming hand down his flank. Whispering soft nothings, he unbuckled the worn leather collar around the Russian’s throat. When it was off, he tucked it in his pocket.

Taking a deep breath, Nikita steadied himself once more. A slave, he had been trained, did not touch his own collar. Master put it on, and only Master could remove it. Even if it was just temporary.

Mara watched him quietly. “Come, boy,” she ordered, crooking her finger so that he would follow. “Let’s get those measurements done. Mr Brassard, please feel free to browse for anything else you might… need.”

Derick smirked.

-----

As he placed the discreet cardboard box on the table, Derick listened to his slave puttering around the kitchen. One benefit to mastering Nikita the way he had: home-cooked meals. Somewhere along the line, someone had taught Nikita how to really prepare food, and Derick was reaping the benefit.

And, soon, he’d be reaping other benefits. His eyes darted to the cabinet where their contract was hidden. Before he started anything serious, the terms of the contract would need to be re-negotiated. Preferably tonight.

“Little one?” he called.

“In the kitchen, Master,” Nikita replied, with that distracted tone that said he daren’t leave his cooking at the moment. It was one of the few times he would openly disrespect Derick’s wishes; preparing the perfect meal came first. (Oh, sure, he was quick with the quiet disobedience-the attempts at manipulation, the finding of loopholes, anything he thought would get him punished the way he wanted. But open? Much rarer.)

Shaking his head with a wry grin, Derick strode into his kitchen. As much as the house was his domain, the one area where Nikita was expected to be fully subservient at all times, there was no hiding the fact from either of them that Nikita was the king of this kitchen, and all who stepped into merely there to worship at his feet.

“Master,” Nikita greeted warmly, only half-turning as he shook something red and powdery into the bubbling saucepan. His hair was yanked back behind a hairband, probably to hold it out of his face while he worked.

“Little slave,” Derick returned. He waited until Nikita seemed to pause for breath, then folded his arms around that thin body. He made no attempts to hide the fact that he was half-hard already; a sweaty, red-faced Nikita did that for him. “What are you making for dinner?”

The young man fairly melted against him, his eyes sliding shut. He knew that he’d gotten what he wanted; the smug grin curling his lips argued for that. “C-curry, Master,” he breathed. “Chicken curry with rice.”

“Can it wait for a moment?” the Canadian asked, releasing him and stepping back. He noted how Nikita instinctively moved with the motion, and swallowed a small smile.

Nikita peered curiously at his curry, then opened the oven and checked. Placing a lid on the saucepan, he turned to face the older man. “It can wait, Master.”

“Good,” Derick murmured. “Come to the dining room, then. We need to renegotiate your contract.”

“Master?” he asked, confused.

The lost look on his face, Derick decided, was adorable. He reached up and removed the old collar that still wrapped around Nikita’s throat. “It’s important; trust me.”

Nikita’s eyes watched closely as the collar disappeared into Derick’s back pocket. “If you say so,” he agreed, turning back to the stove. He quickly set the timer for thirty minutes. “But you’ve only got thirty minutes. I am not ruining a perfectly good vindaloo just because you’ve got strong morals.”

At that, Derick had to grin. The difference between collared Nikita and uncollared Nikita would have stunned most people, but he simply recognized it as the two different facets of the boy’s personality. Collared, Nikita was the slave, and allowed to behave as such. He didn’t have to worry about anything except keeping Master happy; all else was to be taken care of for him. Uncollared, Nikita was the one in control, and he had to face all the duties that came with it.

As Nikita settled himself comfortably in one of the dining room chairs, Derick opened the cabinet in the corner of the room and removed the contract. He placed it on the table in front of the young man, and then sat down next to him. “Alright,” he sighed. “We need to go over a few parts of this.”

“Alright,” Nikita agreed. “Which ones?”

Derick skimmed the paper quickly. Their original contract was drawn up to give Nikita a strong framework, one that would allow him to stabilize emotionally without any threat of Derick taking advantage of him. Still, it had been written months ago, and it was clear that the young man was much more comfortable and secure. Any contract written now would be more like the real thing: an outline of both parties’ expectations in the relationship.

“First of all,” he said, “we need to change your expected duties. This says I will not use you as a body slave.”

Nikita beckoned for the pen, a wry smile on his face. “Give me that. We’re changing that, now.”

Laughing slightly, Derick handed the pen to him. He always allowed his slaves to define their terms in their words; in his experience, it eliminated confusion and miscommunication. “What shall it read this time?”

“The slave-that would be my gorgeous self-shall endeavor to provide the Master with all his needs, both in house and in person. These duties shall not be limited by anything but the Stipulations outlined herein,” Nikita said as he wrote, his hand moving rapidly across the page as he changed the one article. He quickly initialed and dated, then handed the pen to Derick.

The older man obediently initialed and dated the page. “You’ve written a contract or two, mister.”

Nikita waggled his eyebrows playfully. “Kinky Russians. We’re all over. What’s next?”

“Stipulations,” Derick said firmly. “You need to re-outline your limits, Nikki.”

Rolling his eyes, Nikita took up the pen once more. “The slave is limited to housework which does not threaten his life nor his livelihood-which should rule out cleaning the bathroom, seriously, Brass-the scheduling of which is controlled by the Master. This may include-okay, blah, blah, blah, we’ll leave that as is… ah, okay. I’m going to add… In service as a body slave, the slave may stop any actions by using the appropriate safeword. The Master will adhere to this. No actions will be permitted that may cause permanent bodily harm to the slave, nor any that would threaten the slave’s life or livelihood.”

“Be sure to outline your hard limits,” Derick prompted. “Just get ‘em on paper.”

Nikita nodded. “Hard limits are as follows-most of which, I believe we’ve already discussed, Brass.” He ticked things off on his fingers as he spoke. “No bloodplay. No scat. No vomit-I mean, gross-no burning, and no electrocuting. Watersports can only be considered with a separate contract and discussion beforehand. The same for piercings. No branding. No shaving my head or cutting my hair. I refuse to be left in the care of a temporary Master, unless,” he paused, making sure that Derick was watching, “unless you are in some way incapacitated or unavailable and I am headed into major meltdown. At which point, it needs to be someone we’ve agreed on beforehand.”

Derick thought for a moment. “Is Mara-the Mistress at the Box-okay with you? She won’t expect anything sexual, and she’s very good at simply dropping someone who needs to be dropped.”

“Which, if I’m having a breakdown, I need,” Nikita agreed. “Alright. Her, if we’re in town at the time. What if we’re on a roadtrip, though?”

“Would it be okay with you if I had a talk with Kris Russell?” Derick asked. “I know he’s played once or twice.”

But Nikita shook his head. “Not one of the Puppies; I don’t want everyone finding out. And even though I drop easy, I only do it for someone with power. He doesn’t have that, believe me.”

Derick thought for a moment. “How about Rusty? He’s not into the scene, but if you just need to be dropped by someone who can be authoritative…”

“And he already knows,” Nikita mused. “Okay. Rusty, if Mistress Mara’s unavailable.” Leaning down, he quickly made the changes to the contract. He dated and initialed those, too, then passed the pen to Derick for him to do the same.

The Canadian man sighed, shook his head, and signed and dated the changes. When that was done, he stood up, carried the contract over to the cabinet, and put it away once more. Turning around, he opened the box and lifted out what looked like a velvet jeweler’s box.

Nikita’s eyes brightened as he saw the box. He knew what was in it; it was something he had been waiting for for quite some time. Smiling softly, he got out of the chair and knelt before Derick. “My Master,” he murmured lovingly, pressing his forehead to the other man’s shoes.

“Little one,” Derick whispered, opening the box and kneeling down next to him. “Will you accept my collar?”

“Gladly,” Nikita answered. He lifted his head to expose his throat.

Carefully, Derick lifted the thin leather strap from the box. The tags hanging from it sang brightly as they swayed, the mirrored surfaces of the silver badges reflecting light all around the room. It was thinner than Nikita’s old collar, and the leather infinitely darker.

Reaching forward, the Canadian slid the collar around Nikita’s throat, and then buckled it in place. “My little slave,” he whispered. A finger under the Russian’s chin was all it took to tilt his face up to meet, and Derick kissed him warmly.

Under his touch, Nikita whimpered and pressed into the kiss. He whimpered again when his Master broke the kiss and sat back on his heels.

Derick chuckled. “None of that, now,” he said, flicking the end of Nikita’s nose. “Come. Dinner is still cooking.”

“Yes, Master,” Nikita murmured obediently. He waited until his Master stood up, and then smoothly rose to his feet. He followed him into the kitchen, subdued. When his Master sat down at on one of the stools at the marble island, Nikita’s eyes flicked to him for a brief moment, and then he turned back to his cooking.

The desire in his Master’s beautiful eyes had nothing to do with the tantalizing smell of food cooking.

-----

“If you want to stop,” Derick said firmly, tightening the buckles of the leather harness around Nikita’s strong body, “you will say, ‘red.’ If you use your safeword, all action will stop. Completely. No ifs, ands, or buts. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” Nikita whispered, his head bowed so that the other man could hook the trailing chain on the harness to his collar.

Derick continued, now checking the harness’s fit by sliding paired fingers under the leather straps to make sure that it wasn’t too tight. “If, at anytime, you wish to pause for a little while, to keep me from going up a level, you must say, ‘yellow.’ I will not push you any further after that.” His fingers stroked down the back of Nikita’s neck, trailing lightly under the collar. “Do you understand, little one?”

“Yes, Master,” Nikita replied.

Standing up, Derick put his hands on his hips. “Slave!” he barked. “Present yourself for inspection!”

Immediately, Nikita dropped into his bowing pose. His head planted at his Master’s feet, as if kissing the ground he stood upon, Nikita folded his body down, spreading his legs apart. He could feel his Master’s eyes as they traced down his body, like a physical weight. It moved over him, inch by inch, testing his clean skin and elegant posture.

As his Master began to move, pacing around the room, Nikita held impossibly still. He knew that his Master was watching him, observing him from all angles. He was the slave; it was his job to be perfect for the Master. Any failures were his fault, and he knew that he would be punished for any mistakes.

A cold foot landing in the small of his back startled Nikita, and he twitched ever so slightly in surprise. Immediately, he knew he had made a mistake. His Master growled low in his throat and snatched something up off the foot of the bed. Nikita, wincing, accepted the sharp crack of the crop across his buttocks; the foot barely moved.

“You were not told to move, little slave,” Derick chuckled, feeling Nikita’s skin twitch under the ball of his foot. Teasingly, he stroked the tip of the crop he had used over Nikita’s pale ass, drawing out little, nonsensical designs.

Nikita waited, anticipating. He knew what was coming-even so patient a man as his Master had his limits, and the young Russian had been doing absolutely everything in his power to drive his Master to them… and beyond.

The foot moved, and Nikita watched out of the corner of his eyes as his Master stalked around the room, lifting something from on top of the bed. There was a sharp crack, and an even sharper smell, and then cold fingers were suddenly at the entrance to Nikita’s body.

Derick grinned to himself as he saw the muscles in Nikita’s back tighten and relax quickly. He had taken the opportunity Nikita’s fitting had provided him to purchase several items, one of which was peppermint lube-guaranteed to chill on contact. It was cool on his fingers as he scissored them in to Nikita’s hot, tight body, and he could only imagine what it must have felt like from the younger man’s point of view.

He listened to the way Nikita’s breath whispered over his lips as he slicked the large rubber toy he had picked out for the lithe young man. Taking advantage of Nikita’s careful (and perfect) positioning, he slid the toy home.

Nikita bit his lip to keep from all out keening as the plug slid in. His Master had given him the bare minimum of preparation, and it felt wonderful. It burned and stung, and he knew that, come tomorrow morning, he would be feeling it for sure. And that was what he was looking forward to, that permanent, private sign that he was owned, dominated, mastered, and controlled.

Derick could see the look on the younger man’s face, and he swallowed his own smirk. Blissed out was a beautiful look on that pale face, and he had the sneaking suspicion that it would look even better dressed up with sweat and a heady flush. Already, a bright red was starting to blossom on the swell of Nikita’s buttocks, spreading slowly up his back.

“You’ve been bad,” Derick purred, turning back to his bed and picking up a dark wooden paddle. “Haven’t you, little slave?”

Nikita huffed weakly. “Y-yes, Master,” he whimpered, pressing his face into the rough nap of the carpet. “This one has been very bad.”

“You’ve misbehaved,” Derick continued. “You’ve ignored orders. You’ve been late with dinner. You’ve tried to make me do what you want. Silly little slave. Don’t you know the Master is always in control?”

“Y-yes, Master,” Nikita replied, his eyes closed tightly. “This one…this one deserves to be punished.”

Derick smirked. “And you will be. Slave! Present for punishment!”

Obedient to a fault when it was for something he wanted, Nikita rapidly shifted into the tighter, more closed stance, presenting his ass to his Master for punishment. He could feel the leather and steel of his harness moving against his skin as he did, and it was wonderful; heat began to pool in his groin. He could feel the plug moving in his ass, shifting against a passage already made hyper-sensitive by the peppermint lube his Master had used on him.

Seeing the way his slave bit his lip as the plug in his ass shifted, Derick grinned to himself. He couldn’t wait to play with Nikita, couldn’t wait to see his enraptured responses to the simplest of stimuli. Breathing in against the heady, rising tide of lust that was threatening at the edges of his mind, Derick raised the crop up to his shoulder height. Bracing Nikita with his foot once more-gratified this time to see that the younger man did not react-he swung the crop down, hard.

Nikita bit back the grunt that threatened to escape. His former master had insisted on silence at all times, and, while Master wasn’t so strict, normally, Nikita didn’t want to displease him now. To do so would be horrifying, after all the work he had put in to ensuring that Master would pick up the crop. He didn’t want him to put it down again-not for a long, long time.

Derick, hearing the tiny hint of breath that escaped his slave, seeing the way his muscles tightened, lifted his foot from Nikita’s spine. He began to trace the knobbly line of his little slave’s spine with the end of the crop, following the path of hyper-sensitive nerves with the little leather tail. “Slave,” he whispered, stroking gently, “do not be afraid to cry out.” He swung the crop again, and was rewarded by hearing Nikita gasp in shock. “I rather enjoy hearing you, little one.”

Bowing his head a little further, Nikita straightened his spine for Master’s crop, glad to be granted permission to scream. It had always been hard for him to swallow down the little sounds, almost as if he were not giving his Master the little signs that everything was going the way it was supposed to. When the crop cracked across the pale, naked skin of his ass once more-Master had impeccable aim, that was for certain-he keened a little, feeling the sound rumbling between his chest and thighs where they were pressed together.

“Scream, little one,” Derick coaxed wickedly, not giving a second’s worth of pause before striking him once more. He lay five hot, red stripes down on Nikita’s porcelain pale skin in quick succession, delighting in the way his obedient slave cried out each time. Every weak, trembling sound that escaped from Nikita’s dark, red mouth made the fire under Derick’s skin burn just a little bit hotter, and it was the best torture ever.

Again and again and again the crop fell hot and hard against Nikita’s skin, until he was crying out senselessly, giving voice with every single kiss of the hard leather tail. He lost himself in the fire that was lit under his skin, lost himself in the heat of the touch and sensation and wonderful feeling of being wrapped in pure flame. He let himself drift on the ebb and flow of the pain; Master was there, and Master would watch over him.

As his beautiful slave begin to relax into his punishment, Derick smiled to himself. Nikita was gorgeous in submission, that much was true, but the Canadian man wondered to himself if anyone realized just how breath-taking the dark-haired, lithe man could be when he fell and fell hard. He could hear the shift in Nikita’s breathing, and knew that the younger man was adrift on a sea of endorphins, completely out of his mind, and knew that it was time to move on to the next step of this game he had laid out.

Setting aside the crop, Derick ran a hand through his hair, and was slightly startled to find that it was damp with sweat. He had been so deep in wringing responses out of Nikita that he had not noticed the way he was starting to respond; it had been a long time since he had had a slave as responsive as the young Russian to play with.

He couldn’t help but smirk as he realized that Nikita was his now, his for as long as the two of them could put up with one another. Those whimpering little cries, the obvious desperation for touch, the submissiveness that was shot through with a mischievous streak… as of right now, it was all his. That was a heady thought, indeed.

Derick stretched slightly to loosen up his shoulder, and then began to pace a slow circle around the panting, flushed body kneeling on his rug. His well-trained slave hadn’t moved, beyond the heaving of his sides that came with the heavy, whistling breathing that rushed over his lips. His ass glowed a violent, fiery red that truly stood out against the creamy ivory of his skin. The tan had faded slowly, but the result was so beautifully untouched that Derick couldn’t find it in him to mourn its loss.

The soles of Nikita’s feet were bright pink, huddled under his ass, bearing it up for punishment as Derick desired. His forehead was pressed to the rug, even though it probably would have been easier for him to breathe with his head turned to the side, given the way his knees were forced into his chest. Sweat was beginning to darken his hair, until it clung to the back of his neck in rich, blood-and-copper toned strands.

Nikita could barely breathe, feeling his Master’s eyes on his body. He stayed as still as he could, knowing that his Master wished to inspect his goods, and ensure that he was not being cheated.

“Little slave,” the Master announced finally, his voice dark and dangerous and desiring, so hot that Nikita was surprised that burns weren’t blistering across his skin. “You have misbehaved.”

It wasn’t a question. Nikita did not speak.

His Master continued. “You have been late with my meals, slave, and you know how I hate to wait. You have ignored my orders, and you know that it is not your position to do so. You have tried to manipulate me, me, your Master, and you know that I am the one in control here. Tell me, slave, what do you think to gain from all of this?”

Nikita said nothing, though he had to bite his lip to keep from speaking.

His silence broke seconds later, shattering in short, sharp scream as a line of fire fell down his spine, followed by a blistering chase of cold. He hadn’t realized that his Master had had candles lit in the room; he hadn’t seen them when he had entered the room. The ice, too, because that was what it had to be, was a surprise. He hadn’t seen it, either.

“Answer me, slave!”

“I… I…” Nikita panted, struggling to regain his breath and his center. The twinned burn of hot and cold had startled him, and he was having a difficult time balancing out once more. “I… this one wished for… for Master to… to touch me.”

“To touch you, little slave?” Derick demanded, amused at the way Nikita had answered him. He had been surprised with how Nikita had responded to the sensation play; it had actually seemed to break through the younger man’s effortless submission, if his use of a personal pronoun was any indication. Mentally filing Nikita’s response to sensation away, Derick continued.

“To touch you, slave? You wished for me to touch you?”

“Y-yes, Master,” Nikita stuttered, his spine starting to arch as the cold bite of the chilled, mentholated oil Derick had dropped on after the hot wax began to truly sink into his skin. He hissed suddenly, the movement of his body making the cold steel of his harness move against his skin, even as it shifted the plug in his ass. There was no way for him to escape the torture; it was part of his body, on him, in him.

Derick could feel his breath quickening. Christ, but the boy was beautiful like this…! Swallowing hard, he reached down to adjust himself. “And how does my touch feel now, slave?” he asked, leaning down quickly and smacking Nikita’s ass, right in the center of the rich, red glow.

The sound that escaped Nikita could only be described as a wail. His spine arched violently, but, to his credit, he did not actually break his posture. The plethora of whispery, soft whimpers that slid past his parted lips as the harness and plug shifted once more suggested that it was only a minor miracle that he had not, however.

“Slave!” Derick barked. “Kneel up!”

Panting heavily, Nikita did as his Master had ordered him. Though he was more than half out of his mind with pleasurable pain, he nonetheless did everything he had ever been taught to make the motion as sensual and tempting as possible. First, he brought his spine up in a perfect arch, dragging his face up over his knees and thighs, until he could almost have sucked his own cock. Rewarded with the sound of his Master’s breath quickening and growing rougher, he kept his head bowed down even as he used his powerful thighs to push himself upright, until he was standing on his knees, his arms loose to his sides, his chin pressed to his chest. He waited until the last second to whip his head up, letting his hair fly back, leaving his face open and bare.

His Master sucked in breath with a hiss, and Nikita knew that that had been the right move. It had revealed the hot red of his cheeks and the darker crimson of his lips-he had been biting on them all this time. It also probably revealed how glazed his eyes were, and how huge his pupils had blown in his face. Unable to control himself, Nikita let his tongue whip out quickly to wet his dry lips.

Derick raised his eyes to the heavens at that, one hand darting down to squeeze himself through the loose pants he was wearing. Christ. Nikita would be the death of him, at this rate. That pink, pink tongue against those much abused lips, the red cheeks, the peaked nipples, the dark red cock nestled in copper curls… Christ, his little slave was getting off on this just as much as he himself was.

Taking his eyes off of his slave-and wasn’t that like torture right there-Derick stalked slowly to the bed and selected two items from the ones laid out across the coverlet. Taking the larger of the two in hand, he knelt down behind Nikita. “Spread your legs like the whore you are, little slave,” he ordered, smacking the younger man’s ankles with three fingers.

Nikita obeyed with startling alacrity, given how drifty his eyes were and how deep he had already fallen. He widened his stance, spreading his fine-boned ankles far apart enough that Derick could easily lock the spreader bar into the D-rings on the insides of the ankle restraints. He set the bar at a medium length-far enough that Nikita’s legs would be stretched, leaving him open for any invasion, but not so far that he would be in significant pain the next day.

“Arms back, slave,” Derick ordered, taking the second item from the bed. It was another metal bar, barely as long as his middle finger, with shining clips on the side. As soon as Nikita’s arms came back, unconsciously meeting in the small of his back, wrists together, Derick bound his wrists to one another using the small bar. That done, he stood up and stepped back, admiring his handiwork.

Nikita straightened slightly, feeling his Master’s eyes weighing heavily on his back. He wondered what in hell his Master intended with him, spread and chained the way he was. Inwardly, he hoped that Master might bend him over the nearest flat surface and fuck him blind, but he knew the chances of that happening were slim to none. His Master had significantly more patience than the slave.

He nearly cried out as his Master’s hand fisted tightly in his long, sweaty hair, pulling and yanking his head back at a sharp angle. Instead, he swallowed the sound and focused his eyes on the ceiling, rather than looking directly at his Master’s face. The leather cock-ring was starting to border on painful, and he knew that if he so much as glanced at his Master’s face, it would quickly cross that line.

He couldn’t help the way his breath got shallower and started to come faster, nor the way he suddenly felt the compulsive need to swallow. The collar tightened around his throat as his Adam’s apple bobbed, and Nikita closed his eyes, washed in the feeling of being bound and restrained. His skin felt hot and tight, and he knew he looked every inch the wanton whore he was. Shame bloomed rich and hot in the pit of his stomach, but the desire that was racing through his blood only grew.

Derick tightened his fingers in the younger man’s hair, watching the look on his face as he closed his eyes. Lord, this little slave would be the death of him at this rate. He was so hard it hurt. Swallowing forcefully, he waited until he was sure his voice wouldn’t wobble too obscenely to speak. Still, his words were harsh and rough, like sandpaper as they left his lips.

“Suck me, whore,” he ordered, shaking his fist slightly so that the lithe slave’s head wobbled on his neck. “Suck me.”

Nikita swallowed again, his lips parting as a tiny whimper escaped him. When Derick released his hair, he keened a little, low and deep in his throat, unconscious and wanting. It was a beautiful sound, almost as beautiful as the tiny little chimes made by the metal links of the harness coming in contact as Nikita slowly, wobblingly, shuffled around on his knees until he was facing Derick, his face so close to the Canadian’s crotch that Derick could feel his breath, hot and moist, through the sweatpants he was wearing.

“What are you waiting for, slut?” Derick demanded, the wobble in his voice just barely audible. “I said suck me.”

Nikita groaned, leaning forward and nuzzling his Master’s erection through the thin sweatpants he was wearing. He wanted, god, how he wanted… He couldn’t resist it. Opening his mouth as far as he could, so far that his jaw popped, and then took his Master’s cloth covered dick into his mouth. He panted around the mouthful, delighting in his Master’s tiny, hitched breaths as his cock was bathed in hot, moist air.

When his Master slid his strong hands into Nikita’s hair, he groaned, his eyes sliding shut. He released his Master’s cock and then waited until his Master removed his hands from his hair once more. Rocking back on his heels, Nikita shifted his shoulders a little bit, to delay the ache that would inevitably set in from having his hands bound behind his back. When he straightened up, he rose up a little higher and snagged the waistband of his Master’s workout pants in his teeth.

He began to draw it down slowly, teasingly, looking up through the soft fringe of his lashes to his Master’s nipples. He took his time, delighting in how close he was to his Master’s strong body. He could feel the heat rising off of his skin, could smell the musk and the sweat and the soap he had used when he had showered earlier. His mouth watering, Nikita was eager to take his Master in his mouth and worship him… but all things must come in their due time, he knew, and a little patience on his part would reward them both.

Derick groaned, watching as his little slave removed his sweatpants with his teeth. There was no mistaking the desire in the little Russian’s eyes, anymore than there was a chance of mistaking how hard he was (hard and leaking; it was miraculous that his little slave hadn’t come yet, cock-ring be damned.) God, he had not known what he was getting into, taking Nikita into his life like this. It would be the death of him, for sure. Just as long as he got to come first, Derick was okay with that occurrence.

His eyes went wide, completely unseeing, and he tangled both hands in Nikita’s long hair as the lithe young man took his aching cock into his mouth. Nikita’s mouth was hot and wet, and it was clear that someone had trained him to suck dick, because Derick was pretty sure his brain was slowly being liquefied.

A hot blush of pride warmed Nikita’s belly as he heard his Master moan above him as he closed his mouth around his dick. His Master’s hands were pulling at his hair, and it felt wonderful, and Nikita knew that it was all because of what he was doing. He took his time in pleasing his Master, sucking slowly, moving up and down on his cock in a rhythmic flow. He waited until quiet little gasps of air let him know that his Master could get no harder, and then he broke his rhythm, relaxing his throat quickly and swallowing his Master down.

Derick’s eyes rolled back in his head and he had to lock his knees to keep from falling over as Nikita’s throat rippled around his dick. He let out a sob of air, fingers clenching in the Russian’s hair, as he struggled not to come. And Nikita just kept swallowing around him, backing off occasional to gasp for air and then just diving right back in, going at it like it was an Olympic sport.

Finally, he could take it no longer. “Stop,” he ordered harshly, gripping Nikita’s hair so tightly that the individual strands were starting to cut into the skin of his fingers.

Nikita obediently stopped.

Derick removed his cock from the slave’s mouth and held himself tightly. “Expose yourself, slut,” he ordered tightly. “You want to be painted in my come, don’t you, you little slut? You’re such a little whore; I bet it’s what you’ve been waiting for this entire time. You want my come all over you, marking you for the pervert you are.”

Nikita could only groan as he sat up straight, threw his head back, and parted his legs to reveal his weeping cock. He wanted it, yes, he did; he wanted to be able to smell his Master all over him. He could almost weep with desire.

Seeing the look on Nikita’s face, Derick quickly began to stroke himself. In an almost embarrassingly short span of time, he was coming. The pearly white fluid streaked over his slave’s body, covering him from head to toe. Though the majority of Derick’s come splattered across Nikita’s chest, streaking down to his groin, some splashed onto his face and in his hair.

Nikita whimpered quietly, feeling his Master’s hot come land on his body, possessive and claiming. He felt loved and owned, and he wanted to scream, he was so hard. His Master’s come was dripping slowly down his chest and down his face, coming to puddle in the tangled nest of curls around his cock. He could feel it moving down his body, and he moaned a little, his tongue darting out to wet his lips and taste the come that had ended up there. He wanted… oh, how he wanted.

But his Master did not leave him waiting long. His knees still trembling slightly from his orgasm, his Master released Nikita’s hair, grabbed his chin, and turned Nikita’s face up to meet his.

“Look at me, slave,” he ordered quietly.

Nikita looked up, and what he saw in his Master’s dark eyes made him catch his breath.

His Master smiled at him, and then stooped slightly and removed the cock-ring that restrained Nikita’s cock. “Do not come until I tell you,” he warned, leaning around and freeing his hands, and then standing back up and stepping back half a step. “Stroke yourself, slave.”

His eyes still fixed on his Master’s face, Nikita was quick to obey. Taking his throbbing cock in hand, he began to stroke himself rapidly. He had neither the patience nor the presence of mind to torment himself today; he only hoped that his master wouldn’t ask him to wait too long to come.

Derick watched, his heart racing, as Nikita gave himself over to the pleasure. His beautiful, dark eyes with their wide-blown pupils were hidden from sight as his eyelids fell closed. The bright flush of his cheeks got impossibly darker and his lips parted as he panted for breath, whimpering on every inhale, sighing on every exhale. Nikita was truly beautiful in his lusts; Derick could barely restrain himself from touching his little slave.

He cleared his throat, and then ordered, “come, slave.”

With a high-pitched whine, Nikita came instantly. White streaked across his chest and his spread thighs, mingling with Derick’s come on his skin. He held perfectly still for a moment, his back arched and thighs straining, and then he collapsed, sobbing.

Kneeling to the floor, Derick gathered him in his arms, uncaring of the mess that was spread between their two bodies. “Shh, shh,” he whispered, holding his little slave close. “You’re such a good little slave… such a good little slave. Shh, shh.”

----

“I don’t know what you’ve done,” Rick said, shaking his head as he watched the young Russian playing pass-tag with Rusty and the Puppies, “and I don’t want to know, either, Brass,” he added, a look of warning on his face, “but it’s done him a world of good.”

Smiling possessively, Derick watched Nikita howling with laughter as he tried to keep up with Kris and Jared’s impossibly fast and accurate passes. The look of delight on Nikita’s beautiful face warmed his heart, and he knew that he probably was revealing everything to Rick just because of his face, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

“He’s done me a world of good, too,” he admitted finally, and then he pushed off the wall and went to join the game.

Part 1
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