olden times for Tommy

[oohforeshadowing]

The great country pile isn't their speed, really.

Double had their lovely house in London, bought and paid for by their adoptive father - a High Fae of some high regard, who'd been fretting about their lands and accounts falling into strangers' hands when he passed on. It was a heartrending story, of course, and Double was...well, positively delighted to be anything the old man wanted them to be. For the right price.

Shapeshifters have long since had a bad reputation for sliding into the upper echelons this way. They hadn't been in penury to begin with, by any means, but 'lovely house in London' money and 'vast estates with mining wealth and hundreds of rate-paying tenants' money is not the same by some order of magnitude.

The old man died peacefully in his bed, well over a century old, and left the manor house and everything that went with it to their sole heir. Who is going to sell it all, eventually, but it feels tasteless not to even let their 'father's' body grow cold.

They move in after the last of their furniture has been transported, and lets the housekeeper give them the tour. They cut quite the figure: long blond hair pinned up in curls, a jacket and blouse tailored tightly to a corseted waist, the snug high-waisted breeches favoured by most males. Their tail is the most exposed part of them and the woman they're following keeps eyeing it like she's not sure if it's obscene or not.

"...show you the stables, your grace," she says, as she walks ahead to the outbuildings.

"Ah. I suppose we ought."

Comments

[oohforeshadowing]

"So responsive," they breathe. The dull ache between their thighs has become a throb. They can feel how wet they're getting. "But you should know I've barely started. Wait until I've got my arm in, darling."

Another few blows, quick sharp taps with the keeper - and then they abruptly turn it in their hands and strike him across the thighs with the handle.

[bleak_midwinter]

That feels almost like getting fucked, the hard handle giving a blow through his lower body that's a much harder physical impact. He presses his forehead against the couch's arm, which muffles the sound of his cry when they do it.

He feels amazing. Being this rebellious, big-mouthed type is also letting him just feel in a way he isn't used to.

[oohforeshadowing]

The sounds he's making are wonderful, the outbursts of pain and pleasure and pure sensation that he's not trying to smother. Double's previous partners have been people of their own class, wealthy socialites encountered in London clubs, and they often felt like they could never truly let go. Never be genuinely swept away by it, always with half an eye on their image. Their reputation.

There's none of that here. Just authenticity, and trust. It feels raw. Thrilling.

They keep hurting him. Quick whipping blows with the keeper, scattering red marks across his ass and thighs; randomly alternating with harder, heavier strikes with the handle, laying vivid pink stripes across his skin.

He takes it so beautifully.

[bleak_midwinter]

He can't deny that tears spring to his eyes at some points - when they hit him with the handle right between the crease of his ass and his thighs, or when a red mark gets hit again in just that way that makes the pain triple, quadruple. Their aim is perfect and their strength is obvious: each hit feels like he's being laid into by someone twice his own strength.

He's completely hard after a few minutes, and doesn't feel shame about that. He's just happy that Trouble will enjoy that fact.

[oohforeshadowing]

Double has been restraining themself, mostly, but every so often it becomes too tempting to really put their arm into it and watch him writhe. His arse and thighs are a beautiful patchwork of pink and red and purple, and just imagining him having to tolerate the buggy seat on the ride home is driving them to distraction.

Without warning, they manhandle him up, around and onto his back on the couch. (He'll very briefly feel their hand cradling the back of his head, guiding him down onto a cushion so he doesn't hurt himself.) This puts his face and body on full display, and presses his weight against the welts in his skin.

"Look at you. You'd have made a mess of yourself if I'd continued a little while longer."

[bleak_midwinter]

His face is almost as red as his ass and thighs, his eyelashes wet from where he'd just let himself go a few times. The position is also making him spread his legs, one foot on the floor, the other leg flung over the armrest. He's on full display, making himself a canvas of so much else that can be done.

"This is - in spite of you," he protests, knowing it sounds weak. No one can deny his erection, how it's smearing precome over his belly. He shifts once, like he's trying to move away, and puts glorious pressure on a few welts. It hurts enough that he moans and closes his eyes against the wave of pain, that also makes his cock jerk.

[oohforeshadowing]

"Really? So you'd just like me to walk away, is that it?"

They trail the tip of the crop up the underside of his prick, like they just might - but when they whisk it away and bring it down, with extremely practiced aim, it's his nipple they catch with the leather.

[bleak_midwinter]

"Of - fuck!" He arches up, pushing his chest out like he's begging for more. He might be, actually, he looks pretty and eager enough to be doing so.

"How often do you do this?"

He makes it sound like a complaint, but really he's just curious. They're really very good at it.

[oohforeshadowing]

"So curious, Mr Shelby."

They deal a sharp tap to his other nipple.

"Are you jealous of your predecessors, perhaps?"

[bleak_midwinter]

"I think you went looking for someone to beat, and found an excuse in me."

But the pain is his nipple makes his hips jolt.

[oohforeshadowing]

"I could so easily say the same of you," they purr. "You could have behaved. You could have been a model employee and barely caught my eye at all. But instead you went out of your way to be a temptation."

They hit his inner thigh, so close to his balls that he'll feel the way the air moves around the crop.

[bleak_midwinter]

His leg jerks and his eyes close again, like he doesn't want to know where they'll hit him next. He wished they'd fuck him while they hurt him, he's aching for it.

"It's not temptation. I believe in something. Something bigger than me."

[oohforeshadowing]

"But you'll still provoke me into beating you into a moaning, depraved mess?" A mirroring strike to his other thigh, harder. "I'm flattered."

They barely hit the base of his cock, a carefully glancing blow, but gods know he'll feel it.

[bleak_midwinter]

He wants to protest but completely forgets when they do that. No one ever has come close to hitting him there, and the fact that they dare to has serious impact. It leaves him panting and desperate, a mess.

"Please," he manages.

[oohforeshadowing]

They hold the crop still.

"Please, what?"

As much as Double is feeling feverish, as much as they'd love nothing more than to strip off their breeches and fuck Tommy until they both see stars, they know they have more responsibility than that. If he means please stop, they need to give him time to catch his breath and say it.

[bleak_midwinter]

"Please- " He hesitates, doesn't know for sure how to beg and stay in this game between them, the scene of playing at not desperately wanting this. He'd promised them he'd say what he wanted and didn't want.

"Please, do what you must," he ends up, fairly moaning. He wants them to use him, to wring him out, to do to him whatever they desire.

[oohforeshadowing]

"Oh. Oh, Mr Shelby, you can't bear it, can you?"

They press two fingertips against his bottom lip, demanding entry.

"It's not just what I need, is it. You don't have to tell me. I can feel it."

[bleak_midwinter]

He wants to protest, but he also can't pretend so much that he won't open up. He tips his head back so he can at least say:

"Don't pretend you're not enjoying this."

But he lets them slip their fingers into his mouth all the same.

[oohforeshadowing]

"Darling, I couldn't possibly. I am loving this."

They fuck his mouth slowly with their fingertips, tail drawing up between his thighs, undulating over his prick.

[bleak_midwinter]

He keeps forgetting about the tail, and then being absolutely astonished when they bring it back into play. With his hands still bound all he can do is arch up into the touch as he presses his tongue into their fingers, part eager, part obedient.

[oohforeshadowing]

"Good," they sigh. Not unaware of his he'd reacted to the word, they use it again: "What a sweet little whore you're being for me."

They press hard against his cock for just a moment, trapping it between their tail and his stomach.

[bleak_midwinter]

He kicks with one leg, not at them but out of pure overstimulation. He takes their fingers almost deep enough to gag, and his cock spurts precome once again. He could come from this, easily, but he doesn't want to.

[oohforeshadowing]

"So hungry."

Their tail slithers away, only to wrap around the leg slung over the edge of the couch and draw it up. Resting his foot on the armrest alongside the other. Those fingers, wet now with Tommy's saliva, delve between his thighs and stroke at his exposed hole.

"Just breathe, darling," they croon, and breach him slowly but deeply with one finger.

[bleak_midwinter]

He lets out a quick sound, eyes closing tightly like it might help process the feeling. He likes being fingered but the men he's been with often don't take the time, so he's not used to it.

"Oh... fuck, please don't go too fast - "

[oohforeshadowing]

"I couldn't possibly."

They pump slowly in and out of him, a little more deeply each time, curling inward to find his prostate and glance across it on each stroke.

"You've been used badly in the past, haven't you? Poor thing. It's no surprise that your other lovers couldn't wait to have their fill of you."