As much as he'd been aware, this entire time, of Alecto's penchant towards submission - or, at least, of his incredible ability to act as such, this additional element almost breaks him.
In his role as Daniel, part of a pair of suburban newlyweds exploring their preferences and married life together, he was eager, goading; he liked sex and he liked it rough, and he loved demanding more from his doting (not a stretch for Josh by any means) husband, from Thomas. They flirted, teased, and thought themselves adventurous when they introduced a few improvised toys to their twice weekly sessions, a little hairpulling or biting as they fucked (Thomas usually topped) and sucked (Daniel - or was it Alecto? - was not a fan) and touched. And in the aftermath, Alecto would emerge again, calm, put-together, fastidious, would offer some comment (he got compliments more than critique, which was giving him really inappropriate reactions to Alecto's idea of feedback), would shower and dress again, then settle onto his side of the large bed and pretend to fall asleep immediately or scroll through news on his phone. And that was...fine. It was just what they needed for the cover (apparently), nothing more, nothing less.
This...was something else entirely.
He meets Alecto's gaze straight on, reads the challenge hidden beneath the demure, almost melodramatic facsimile of submission. He's not sure for whose benefit the role is being maintained, for himself or for Alecto, given the promised privacy of the room they were in.
He keeps himself calm, his expression almost bored, as he uses the tip of the crop to trace down the lines of Alecto's back, letting the leather drag along bare skin, just testing his reactions to the little hint of friction as he walks around Alecto again, until he is standing behind him. He pauses, just a moment, to really admire the aesthetics - the careful presentation of his ass in the slope of his body, his knees spread wide on the bench, his legs bent gracefully and straining against the cuffs of the spreader bar, his feet flexing against the restraint, his balls and cock both clearly visible and within easy reach for whatever Josh might choose to do, tense with arousal and anticipation.
He takes careful aim, and the crop flashes out, landing squarely against Alecto's right ass cheek. He pauses only a moment to gauge his reaction before he strikes again and again. For the moment, he focuses mainly on the fleshy part of his ass, watching red bloom over pale skin.
He's used to Josh being...vicious. Not in a cruel way, but in a determined, hardened way, naturally shaped by what his choice of career demands of him. Alecto is used to seeing the way Josh's arm flexes when he hauls a machine gun out of the hidden compartment of his Aston Martin DB5, the way his eyes sharpen and chill when he takes aim. This side of him, this commanding version of him, has always made Alecto's heart race (either with anxiety or arousal, he's unsure. Maybe it's a combination of both), his knees weak.
He'd never admit it out loud though.
Instead, he lets himself fall into situations like this, where they communicate in code, behind personas and guises under the safety of a scene, a private room, a place where neither of them have any history, no past traumas, no hurts. No dead lovers haunting their every move. Alecto allows himself to whimper, to keen at each merciless hit of the crop. The sharp pain that blooms up his spine makes his chest feel tight with something he can't put into words. It makes him feel: controlled, useful, indulged.
"Thank you, Master," he gasps out, when Josh finally pauses for just a moment. "Can I have ten more?" Because of course, Alecto had been counting.
He pauses, still, quiet, out of sight - Alecto can't quite turn his head far enough to see Joshua, with the tightening of the leash - and considers. Alecto's skin is a beautiful pink with darker red lashes and bruises crisscrossed across the canvas of his lower back, his ass, his thighs, every strike skillfully dealt, stopping just short of actually breaking skin and drawing blood. He'd been creative but sparing; the majority of blows had focused on the willingly presented curve of Alecto's back and ass, but he'd snapped the crop against a few strategic places, just to keep things interesting: the exposed sole of his right foot, the back of his left knee, and twice, the soft skin of his inner thighs, spread open by the bar he'd asked for, that Josh had granted him, straying close to the more sensitive portions of his body: his vulnerable taint, his balls, his throbbing erection.
"If you choose the number of strikes you want from me, my pet, I get to choose exactly where they all fall," he says, quiet and stern, as neutrally as he can manage, curious how Alecto will react.
His cock twitches clearly with interest at that condition.
"Good," he pants back, feeling already a little dizzy with desire, with the hunger for more of this treatment: an utterly sweet combination of debasement and discipline. For a moment, he is so curious to see the expression on Josh's face and he tries to turn his head but the leash pulls taught, constricting the collar around his throat hard enough that Alecto moans at the feeling. Fuck, that's nice, he thinks, before he eases back into position, his fingers digging into the fabric of the bench instead, bracing.
He tsks, a sound of displeasure but it carries a note of disappointment, as though Alecto had failed to live up to expectations. He swishes the riding crop through the air, the whistle of it clearly audible in the space. But when he speaks, he is all patience, thoughtful and measured. "How well can you balance for me, my pet?" he asks, honey sweet, with perfect innocence, as he strolls closer, up towards Alecto's head, and taps the riding crop against his right hand, digging into the padding of the bench. "Will you hold yourself open for me, my pet? After all, you belong to me utterly, don't you? Mine to play with, to punish or please, as I see fit?"
"Or do I need to tie you up more, so you understand exactly what I expect from my posessions?"
That sound of displeasure only makes Alecto more alert, sending a shiver down his spine in anticipation.
"No, Master, I can be good for you. I'll balance myself," he replies, eyeing the way the crop smacks Josh's hand with a significant hunger before lowering his gaze as if out of respect for him.
"Have I...upset you, Master?" he asks softly, almost bashful, resisting the urge to smirk with delight, feeling it twitch at the corners of his mouth.
He doesn't rise to the very obvious bait, simply taps the crop against his palm again, wrapping his gloved fingers around the shaft, and squeezing it, watching Alecto's shifting expressions expectantly, raising one eyebrow.
"Well?" He asks; it's not quite impatience, but it is a pointed reminder, as though Alecto needed a little more support to meet Josh's expectations. "I'm waiting, my pet. Show me that needy, desperate hole of yours, so you can take the strikes you asked for."
Gingerly, he leans forward, motions a fluid dance, thighs tensing as he moves his hands back down his body to grip his ass cheeks and spread them, forcing that tight ring of muscle between them to open up, clenching around nothing. This new, punishing position forces Alecto to lean his weight mostly on his neck and shoulders, his cheek pressed to the bench. From here, he can no longer see Josh's face or his hands, merely the shine of his leather shoes and the peek of his ankle from beneath the hem of his pant leg. It's strangely arousing this way too, Alecto realizes suddenly, being able to see only parts of Josh, to have to guess his next moves and intentions through such an impersonal, sliver of a view of him.
He stays quiet, grateful for the forced shift in Alecto's field of vision that this position automatically imposes. He keeps his steps steady, as graceful and deliberate as he can make them.
"Since you asked for these, I expect you to count them out loud this time, and to thank me after each one." He sounds pleased again - this doesn't detract from his attempt at sternness, but somehow amplifies the heat and connection between them. "Are we clear, my pet?"
He doesn't wait for a verbal answer before the crop is flashing out again, a careful, skillful avoidance of Alecto's fingers where they are digging into the meat of his ass, but close enough for him to feel the rustle of displaced air. It's a testing blow, a careful calculation in terms of Alecto's tolerance for pain, and his practical, physical ability to follow all of Joshua's orders and unspoken expectations.
He yelps when the next hit comes, making his entire body jolt from the surprise of it, and Alecto nearly forgets to start the count. Thankfully, the heavy silence that follows is enough to jostle his memory and quickly he says, "One," just a little more shakily than he would have liked, before adding, "T-thank you, Master."
Nine additional strikes with the riding crop might not seem like an objectively large number, particularly since Joshua was being careful to avoid serious injury or even drawing blood, but he takes every single motion he makes seriously. He is careful and intent, letting time drag between each strike, each sob, each careful adherence to his orders, his eyes fixed on Alecto, alert for the slightest hint of a break or a shift - that Alecto was done with this role, this scene, this odd interweaving of Josh's guilty unformed imaginings and the mission they'd been tasked with - and unable to locate one.
The seventh strike hits between Alecto's legs, air wisping against the sensitive skin of his balls. It's incredible, seeing Alecto's fingers digging in, pink-hot skin paling under the increased pressure, a subconscious clench in place of a full-body flinch against the more intense pain, the implication, as his exposed hole contracts and expands beneath Josh's gaze. Alecto is completely and utterly bare everywhere - apparently that was part of his role, his persona for the night - and Josh's mouth almost waters with the desire to get his fingers and lips and mouth and tongue on this usually-hidden part of his body, to thoroughly and painstakingly explore every millimeter of smooth clean skin in appreciation of Alecto's preparations. He thinks, for a moment, of that period of time between the packages with the mission brief arriving and the next time he caught sight of Alecto, wearing the leather shorts and mesh shirt and offering - no, demanding - Josh the collar and leash, while underneath those carefully selected garments, he was...
Rather than moving immediately on to the next strike, he reaches out to the exact place he had just struck, and drags the tip of the riding crop lightly, teasingly, up and down between Alecto's spread-wided cheeks, never quite reaching his clenching entrance, so unaccustomed to being spread out like this for such an extended period of time, with the threat of the riding crop whistling close. His hand doesn't falter at all.
By the end of it, Alecto’s mouth has gone slack and he’s practically drooling. With each new strike he sinks deeper and deeper into the submissive mindset, falling into it slowly like he would sink into the thick waters of a drawn bath. And when Josh finally stops for just a moment, content to tease with the now warm leather of the crop, Alecto automatically, wantonly even, shifts his ass back, rubbing his clenching hole against the tip of the crop, feeling it penetrate him just that tiny bit and he moans, brokenly at the feeling. He can’t imagine what he looks like right now, absolutely debauched, a glorious mess completely spread open and vulnerable, subservient to the pleasures, whims, and demands of this one man standing behind him.
He’s thinking only of how much his skin will bruise tomorrow, how much he’ll have to work to hide under all his clothes, how much concealer he’ll have to use, what little lies he’ll have to tell if or when anyone notices him sitting just this side of uncomfortable -
The moan startles him, but he shifts with Alecto's actions, not a hint of the rush of intense arousal he feels translating into a tremble in his grip or approach. He traces a deliberate circle with the tip of the crop, the leather dragging against Alecto's hole, a sharp but painless friction, and then he pulls it away.
"I'm waiting, my pet," he says, his voice carrying, sharp, a little displeased. "Or will you not be able to take all the blows you begged me for?" The riding crop taps against his gloved palm. "I'm not done with you yet."
His body responds immediately and he groans out a soft apology: "Forgive me, Master," he says, but it doesn't come out nearly as remorseful as it does...a purr. He stills his hips however and the grip of his hands remains firm, even though now and again he seems to want to pull his legs wider, testing the tension at his ankles from the spreader bar.
He loops the end of the crop around his wrist and walks forward to rest his hand against Alecto's flank, leather sliding against marked skin, damp with sweat and exertion. He caresses his side, his ass, and his fingers slide past Alecto's to circle the hole he'd been teasing just now with the riding crop.
"For these last three, I think I want to really put you through your paces, my pet," he muses, inserting one gloved fingertip and testing the tension already gathered there, the increased friction from the leather only slightly eased by the dampness of sweat. "You want to be spread out for me, don't you?" he almost croons the words, in answer to Alecto's apologetic purr. "You want to feel me fucking into you, claiming you, making every part of your body mine to do just as I wish?"
He doesn't wait for an answer. He reaches for some items he'd kept in easy reach - a bottle of lubricant and a wide, thick buttplug. It is not very long, but it is wide and challenging, intended to provide strain for that first ring of muscle while not thoroughly acclimating the second. The click of the bottle is loud in the small room as he opens the container, squeezing the lube onto his still-gloved hand, and immediately sliding one finger into Alecto's body, able to move much more quickly and easily than normal while he's in this submissive position, holding himself open on Josh's command.
"You know I do," he says, his words far more airy and wanting than he would have liked them to be. He digs his own fingers into his skin, hissing when he feels the rough texture of the leather glove probing at his sensitive hole, but he's so restrained, so held apart that he body can do nothing but simply twitch with feeling as he's stretched and penetrated to Josh's liking.
But it's when he feels the pressure of something much wider, much harder, that sudden shock of metal - "Ah, fuck," he bites out, legs straining against the hold of the bar around his ankles.
"You can take it," he replies in answer; it's not encouragement as much as it is a declaration of fact. "You want this." Gone are his gentle questionings, the carefully phrased check-ins, at least for the moment; he is watching in fascination as Alecto's body strains and struggles, as he pushes and pulls on the restraints, against Josh's demands, clenching around the steady, inexorable intrusion of the metal plug into his body. Why shouldn't Josh take exactly what he wants, in the moment?
"You'll take your stripes right here, my pet," he says, voice hot with anticipation as he unspools the future in front of both of them, gloved fingers stroking around Alecto's quivering body right where it is bearing down on the metal stretching him open. "You have three left. And then we'll see what else the evening holds for us, if you're good for me."
He grits his teeth, feels that itchy, sour feeling spread all throughout his jaw. “It hurts, master,” he practically moans, hardly a complaint at all, more so a compliment, a declaration of deep, twisted pleasure. The plug is challenging, stretching him beyond wide, truly testing his body’s limits.
“But…I can be good, master,” he says, in such a way that it implies the obvious addition of: if you make it worth my while.
"I know," he replies - it's not meant to be soothing. It's a simple, clear statement, a declaration of intent, a reminder of the power that Alecto had given over to Josh for the night, that he'd asked for this, though not in so many words, that his pain in the moment was one of Josh's goals, not simply a side effect. He has no qualms about pushing more, further, given the eager way Alecto is settling into this treatment, his body clenching and straining and struggling under Josh's watchful gaze.
He steps back, takes the riding crop back in hand with a flourish that makes it whistle through the air. "Three," he says, a reminder of his standing orders, and the next stripe lands across Alecto's buttocks, held spread wide open by his own hands, a sharp nudge of pressure against the wide metal plug.
And fuck, when he feels the way the plug pounds into him when the crop hits, Alecto comes right then and there, squirting thick white ropes all over himself and the bench beneath him, gasping out the count and subsequent "thank you, master" with ever increasing volume until he practically yells the last one in a strained howl.
When it's finally over, Alecto's hands ease off of himself and stretch forward again, trembling. His entire body is singing, cramped and sweaty and useless in the aftermath. It seems, for a moment, he barely even registers what just happened.
He lets the crop hang from his wrist again when he finishes, that final forceful strike a deep burning red against Alecto's pale skin. Alecto stretches beneath his gaze, a picture of lewd obedience, still bound and spread wide under Josh's gaze, his body straining and trembling with effort, the aftermath of that unexpected orgasm leaving him shaky. Inwardly, Josh is thrown, elated, desperately aroused, the reality of his bringing Alecto to orgasm untouched, with pain and manner and demand, roaring in his heated veins, but he is calm and cool outwardly, standing next to Alecto's bent, bare body, watching him slowly come back to himself with a detached expression.
"Is this how you repay me, my pet?" He asks, though it's clear from his tone that he isn't exactly displeased. He simply sounds curious, unconcerned, even as he reaches one still-gloved hand out to rest between Alecto's shoulderblades, a confident, peremptory gesture, sliding over the beads of sweat gathered there. "I had so many plans for the rest of our evening together."
There's power in submission. It took Alecto a while to learn this but once he did, once he realized this truth, he fell into it with a fervor. In pleasure, he held the reins to their narrative, and just like when he was the voice inside of his agent's ear, here, on his knees, he every moan and twitch guided Josh's hand, directed his next lines, moved him.
Alecto's body twitches, shoulder blades shifting where Josh presses down with his hand, his fingers demanding obedience, stillness. "I'm sorry, Master," he groans out against the ruined bench, not sorry at all and yet feeling every bit the thrill of the shame of it. "I couldn't help myself." His eyes are sharp and bright with bliss.
"Selfish," he observes, his tone still deeply amused, his gloved fingers curling in the short hairs at the nape of Alecto's neck, almost scritching lightly at sensitive skin, a precursor to grabbing on tight and yanking hard. "You'd enjoy that far too much, wouldn't you, my pet?"
He uses his other hand to stroke down along Alecto's cheek, forcing him to tilt his head up to look Josh in the eyes. "I do love seeing you on your knees like this," he says matter-of-factly, curling his fingers in the already taut leather of the collar, straining it just enough to put pressure on Alecto's windpipe, his gaze intense and observant as he stares into Alecto's eyes. "I think you'd look absolutely lovely with a few more adornments though, my pet."
He's ignoring his own arousal, the hard, throbbing length of his erection, still tucked away within his beautifully tailored slacks. "Even though you've already made such a mess, cumming all over yourself like a dirty whore, simply from having your hole stretched wide."
He yanks hard on the collar, leather digging into Alecto's neck, dragging him off balance to drop off the bench into an undignified sprawl of limbs on the floor, legs still held apart and bound by the spreader bar, his bare skin streaked with come and sweat.
His heart races when Josh makes him look him in the eye, but he barely has any time to dwell on it before he finds it suddenly difficult to breathe. His head fills with that exciting tint of panic and brief, euphoric wooziness before he's thrown off the ruined bench.
He falls, stumbles, and his knees hit the ground awkwardly. They'll bruise. He loves that.
Words can barely make it out of his throat with how tight the collar is being pulled around it, making his undignified "please" come out like a wheeze, the letters barely audible, fusing together in one breath as a singular sound of thrilled desperation.
His hands grab automatically at the ground, trying to steady himself, pushing his body back up with his palms. Between his legs his damp cock twitches and he resists the urge to touch it, to take the edge off.
He keeps a tight hold of the collar, though he is ever alert for Alecto's breathing and involuntary reactions, holding him up just enough for the position to be a strain, for his palms to be lifted up off the floor, for his legs to quiver with effort, for his body to clench automatically around the plug stil nestled between his buttocks, keeping him stretched open wide there.
"I should bind your hands too," he murmurs, still gazing deep into Alecto's eyes, counting quietly in his own head. "Though I've been doing all the work around here, haven't I, my pet? Perhaps I should put you to work, earning your keep." His tone takes on a contemptuous edge. "Why else should I keep you around, if not for my own pleasure?" It is absolutely and utterly a lie, and both of them know it. But Joshua knows what's expected of him now, has synthesized the past few weeks of their cover identities' sex lives, has parsed the edges where Joshua and Alecto, Thomas and Daniel, start and end.
He lets his fingers uncurl, careless and casual, giving Alecto back air and movement and agency, lowering him back to the floor, and then spins on his heel, to go select something from one of the cabinets on the other side of the room.
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As much as he'd been aware, this entire time, of Alecto's penchant towards submission - or, at least, of his incredible ability to act as such, this additional element almost breaks him.
In his role as Daniel, part of a pair of suburban newlyweds exploring their preferences and married life together, he was eager, goading; he liked sex and he liked it rough, and he loved demanding more from his doting (not a stretch for Josh by any means) husband, from Thomas. They flirted, teased, and thought themselves adventurous when they introduced a few improvised toys to their twice weekly sessions, a little hairpulling or biting as they fucked (Thomas usually topped) and sucked (Daniel - or was it Alecto? - was not a fan) and touched. And in the aftermath, Alecto would emerge again, calm, put-together, fastidious, would offer some comment (he got compliments more than critique, which was giving him really inappropriate reactions to Alecto's idea of feedback), would shower and dress again, then settle onto his side of the large bed and pretend to fall asleep immediately or scroll through news on his phone. And that was...fine. It was just what they needed for the cover (apparently), nothing more, nothing less.
This...was something else entirely.
He meets Alecto's gaze straight on, reads the challenge hidden beneath the demure, almost melodramatic facsimile of submission. He's not sure for whose benefit the role is being maintained, for himself or for Alecto, given the promised privacy of the room they were in.
He keeps himself calm, his expression almost bored, as he uses the tip of the crop to trace down the lines of Alecto's back, letting the leather drag along bare skin, just testing his reactions to the little hint of friction as he walks around Alecto again, until he is standing behind him. He pauses, just a moment, to really admire the aesthetics - the careful presentation of his ass in the slope of his body, his knees spread wide on the bench, his legs bent gracefully and straining against the cuffs of the spreader bar, his feet flexing against the restraint, his balls and cock both clearly visible and within easy reach for whatever Josh might choose to do, tense with arousal and anticipation.
He takes careful aim, and the crop flashes out, landing squarely against Alecto's right ass cheek. He pauses only a moment to gauge his reaction before he strikes again and again. For the moment, he focuses mainly on the fleshy part of his ass, watching red bloom over pale skin.
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He'd never admit it out loud though.
Instead, he lets himself fall into situations like this, where they communicate in code, behind personas and guises under the safety of a scene, a private room, a place where neither of them have any history, no past traumas, no hurts. No dead lovers haunting their every move. Alecto allows himself to whimper, to keen at each merciless hit of the crop. The sharp pain that blooms up his spine makes his chest feel tight with something he can't put into words. It makes him feel: controlled, useful, indulged.
"Thank you, Master," he gasps out, when Josh finally pauses for just a moment. "Can I have ten more?" Because of course, Alecto had been counting.
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"If you choose the number of strikes you want from me, my pet, I get to choose exactly where they all fall," he says, quiet and stern, as neutrally as he can manage, curious how Alecto will react.
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"Good," he pants back, feeling already a little dizzy with desire, with the hunger for more of this treatment: an utterly sweet combination of debasement and discipline. For a moment, he is so curious to see the expression on Josh's face and he tries to turn his head but the leash pulls taught, constricting the collar around his throat hard enough that Alecto moans at the feeling. Fuck, that's nice, he thinks, before he eases back into position, his fingers digging into the fabric of the bench instead, bracing.
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"Or do I need to tie you up more, so you understand exactly what I expect from my posessions?"
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"No, Master, I can be good for you. I'll balance myself," he replies, eyeing the way the crop smacks Josh's hand with a significant hunger before lowering his gaze as if out of respect for him.
"Have I...upset you, Master?" he asks softly, almost bashful, resisting the urge to smirk with delight, feeling it twitch at the corners of his mouth.
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"Well?" He asks; it's not quite impatience, but it is a pointed reminder, as though Alecto needed a little more support to meet Josh's expectations. "I'm waiting, my pet. Show me that needy, desperate hole of yours, so you can take the strikes you asked for."
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And oh, does Alecto show him.
Gingerly, he leans forward, motions a fluid dance, thighs tensing as he moves his hands back down his body to grip his ass cheeks and spread them, forcing that tight ring of muscle between them to open up, clenching around nothing. This new, punishing position forces Alecto to lean his weight mostly on his neck and shoulders, his cheek pressed to the bench. From here, he can no longer see Josh's face or his hands, merely the shine of his leather shoes and the peek of his ankle from beneath the hem of his pant leg. It's strangely arousing this way too, Alecto realizes suddenly, being able to see only parts of Josh, to have to guess his next moves and intentions through such an impersonal, sliver of a view of him.
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"Since you asked for these, I expect you to count them out loud this time, and to thank me after each one." He sounds pleased again - this doesn't detract from his attempt at sternness, but somehow amplifies the heat and connection between them. "Are we clear, my pet?"
He doesn't wait for a verbal answer before the crop is flashing out again, a careful, skillful avoidance of Alecto's fingers where they are digging into the meat of his ass, but close enough for him to feel the rustle of displaced air. It's a testing blow, a careful calculation in terms of Alecto's tolerance for pain, and his practical, physical ability to follow all of Joshua's orders and unspoken expectations.
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The seventh strike hits between Alecto's legs, air wisping against the sensitive skin of his balls. It's incredible, seeing Alecto's fingers digging in, pink-hot skin paling under the increased pressure, a subconscious clench in place of a full-body flinch against the more intense pain, the implication, as his exposed hole contracts and expands beneath Josh's gaze. Alecto is completely and utterly bare everywhere - apparently that was part of his role, his persona for the night - and Josh's mouth almost waters with the desire to get his fingers and lips and mouth and tongue on this usually-hidden part of his body, to thoroughly and painstakingly explore every millimeter of smooth clean skin in appreciation of Alecto's preparations. He thinks, for a moment, of that period of time between the packages with the mission brief arriving and the next time he caught sight of Alecto, wearing the leather shorts and mesh shirt and offering - no, demanding - Josh the collar and leash, while underneath those carefully selected garments, he was...
Rather than moving immediately on to the next strike, he reaches out to the exact place he had just struck, and drags the tip of the riding crop lightly, teasingly, up and down between Alecto's spread-wided cheeks, never quite reaching his clenching entrance, so unaccustomed to being spread out like this for such an extended period of time, with the threat of the riding crop whistling close. His hand doesn't falter at all.
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He’s thinking only of how much his skin will bruise tomorrow, how much he’ll have to work to hide under all his clothes, how much concealer he’ll have to use, what little lies he’ll have to tell if or when anyone notices him sitting just this side of uncomfortable -
It makes Alecto moan once more as his hips jerk.
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"I'm waiting, my pet," he says, his voice carrying, sharp, a little displeased. "Or will you not be able to take all the blows you begged me for?" The riding crop taps against his gloved palm. "I'm not done with you yet."
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"For these last three, I think I want to really put you through your paces, my pet," he muses, inserting one gloved fingertip and testing the tension already gathered there, the increased friction from the leather only slightly eased by the dampness of sweat. "You want to be spread out for me, don't you?" he almost croons the words, in answer to Alecto's apologetic purr. "You want to feel me fucking into you, claiming you, making every part of your body mine to do just as I wish?"
He doesn't wait for an answer. He reaches for some items he'd kept in easy reach - a bottle of lubricant and a wide, thick buttplug. It is not very long, but it is wide and challenging, intended to provide strain for that first ring of muscle while not thoroughly acclimating the second. The click of the bottle is loud in the small room as he opens the container, squeezing the lube onto his still-gloved hand, and immediately sliding one finger into Alecto's body, able to move much more quickly and easily than normal while he's in this submissive position, holding himself open on Josh's command.
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But it's when he feels the pressure of something much wider, much harder, that sudden shock of metal - "Ah, fuck," he bites out, legs straining against the hold of the bar around his ankles.
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"You'll take your stripes right here, my pet," he says, voice hot with anticipation as he unspools the future in front of both of them, gloved fingers stroking around Alecto's quivering body right where it is bearing down on the metal stretching him open. "You have three left. And then we'll see what else the evening holds for us, if you're good for me."
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“But…I can be good, master,” he says, in such a way that it implies the obvious addition of: if you make it worth my while.
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He steps back, takes the riding crop back in hand with a flourish that makes it whistle through the air. "Three," he says, a reminder of his standing orders, and the next stripe lands across Alecto's buttocks, held spread wide open by his own hands, a sharp nudge of pressure against the wide metal plug.
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When it's finally over, Alecto's hands ease off of himself and stretch forward again, trembling. His entire body is singing, cramped and sweaty and useless in the aftermath. It seems, for a moment, he barely even registers what just happened.
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"Is this how you repay me, my pet?" He asks, though it's clear from his tone that he isn't exactly displeased. He simply sounds curious, unconcerned, even as he reaches one still-gloved hand out to rest between Alecto's shoulderblades, a confident, peremptory gesture, sliding over the beads of sweat gathered there. "I had so many plans for the rest of our evening together."
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Alecto's body twitches, shoulder blades shifting where Josh presses down with his hand, his fingers demanding obedience, stillness. "I'm sorry, Master," he groans out against the ruined bench, not sorry at all and yet feeling every bit the thrill of the shame of it. "I couldn't help myself." His eyes are sharp and bright with bliss.
"Punish me."
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He uses his other hand to stroke down along Alecto's cheek, forcing him to tilt his head up to look Josh in the eyes. "I do love seeing you on your knees like this," he says matter-of-factly, curling his fingers in the already taut leather of the collar, straining it just enough to put pressure on Alecto's windpipe, his gaze intense and observant as he stares into Alecto's eyes. "I think you'd look absolutely lovely with a few more adornments though, my pet."
He's ignoring his own arousal, the hard, throbbing length of his erection, still tucked away within his beautifully tailored slacks. "Even though you've already made such a mess, cumming all over yourself like a dirty whore, simply from having your hole stretched wide."
He yanks hard on the collar, leather digging into Alecto's neck, dragging him off balance to drop off the bench into an undignified sprawl of limbs on the floor, legs still held apart and bound by the spreader bar, his bare skin streaked with come and sweat.
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He falls, stumbles, and his knees hit the ground awkwardly. They'll bruise. He loves that.
Words can barely make it out of his throat with how tight the collar is being pulled around it, making his undignified "please" come out like a wheeze, the letters barely audible, fusing together in one breath as a singular sound of thrilled desperation.
His hands grab automatically at the ground, trying to steady himself, pushing his body back up with his palms. Between his legs his damp cock twitches and he resists the urge to touch it, to take the edge off.
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"I should bind your hands too," he murmurs, still gazing deep into Alecto's eyes, counting quietly in his own head. "Though I've been doing all the work around here, haven't I, my pet? Perhaps I should put you to work, earning your keep." His tone takes on a contemptuous edge. "Why else should I keep you around, if not for my own pleasure?" It is absolutely and utterly a lie, and both of them know it. But Joshua knows what's expected of him now, has synthesized the past few weeks of their cover identities' sex lives, has parsed the edges where Joshua and Alecto, Thomas and Daniel, start and end.
He lets his fingers uncurl, careless and casual, giving Alecto back air and movement and agency, lowering him back to the floor, and then spins on his heel, to go select something from one of the cabinets on the other side of the room.
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