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

[bleak_midwinter]

"Are you going to spank me?" He bites at them, breaking that blessed silence. "Like a naughty little boy?"

[oohforeshadowing]

Double laughs at him, a little sharper than usual, a little meaner.

"No. No, darling."

They lean in to speak against his ear.

"I'm going to break you. Like a horse."

[bleak_midwinter]

He can't help it - he's really in the role, but those words make him let out a soft sound of pleasure. They're perfect. He shudders and pushes back against them, like he'd fight them if he were even a bit as strong as they apparently are.

"I welcome you to try, shifter. I won't break for anyone."

[oohforeshadowing]

"Mmm. We'll see, shan't we?"

They palm his ass with both hands, kneading the firm muscle hard enough to hurt, digging in their nails. As much as it's an indulgence, as lovely as he is to touch, they've learned that starting with a cane or similar on cold skin can make these games much shorter than they need to be.

[bleak_midwinter]

He hangs his head as he pants through the warm-up, hips squirming a little. He wonders if they're getting hard off this, getting wet while watching him squirm around, manhandling him. The mere fact that he's naked and tied up, against their clothed form is a little hot.

[oohforeshadowing]

He'll find out soon enough. Double is a little slower to warm up than the average human, sexually speaking, but it's certainly happening. They can feel a lovely heat and heaviness between their thighs, a sweet tension. Their voice is lower.

"Oh. You can't help but move for this, can you? You're squirming like a whore, Mr Shelby."

[bleak_midwinter]

He gasps in shock at the words, a thrill going through his entire body when the sentiment hits him. He tries to get up, but can't even try to really get up if they want him to stay down. He can't fight physically, so he can at least try verbally:

"Fuck - you - "

It would get him dismissed at the very least, under normal circumstances, but he's heard of humans punished in worse ways by Fae.

[oohforeshadowing]

"I suppose that would be your first retort, wouldn't it? Maybe later," they chuckle. One hand is between his shoulders now, keeping him pinned; the other delves between his thighs to lightly palm his balls.

"I'd be more courteous to someone who can do anything they please."

[bleak_midwinter]

That's one way to make a man stop moving. The moment their hand slips down that far he goes still, breathing shallow, like they just might.

"You're going to do what you please whether I'm courteous or not," he still manages.

[oohforeshadowing]

"Perhaps."

They give his sac a brief, gentle squeeze and then straighten up behind him, reaching for the riding crop. They trail the keeper across his thighs, letting the cool leather drag over his skin.

"Do you know what this is, Mr Shelby?"

[bleak_midwinter]

He shallows thickly, considers lying, but doesn't.

"...a crop. A riding crop, to beat me into submission with."

His whole body feels oversensitive, and his skin comes up in goosebumps in the crop's trail.

[oohforeshadowing]

"Well done."

And they bring the crop down, quick and smart, on the flushed skin of his ass - once on one side, again on the other.

[bleak_midwinter]

"God!" His thighs tense and his shoulders roll as he works to process the impact. The pain goes right to his cock, and even if they won't see it from there he feels a hint of soft shame settle inside of him.

[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."