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You’re bent over yourself, whimpering and shivering as the vibrations drive you crazy. You flex your fingers, your hands tied behind your back; you can hear him walking around you, lazy footfalls that echo more inside your head than anything else.
“Such a fucking slut, Dave.”
You nod. You nod because it’s fucking true, with your weeping cock and the drool that drips down your chin. He turns the sybian up another notch.
You keen.
“That’s right, whore, beg for it.” He grips your chin and forces your head up, bends your neck and your back and you gasp. “Look at me.” He crouches, and you can see just how hard he is, dick flushed. He smacks your face lightly. “I said look at me.”
You meet his eyes, piercing and blue, dark with arousal and sparkling with a hidden smile.
“Good boy.” His hand traces down the cut of your chin along a tendon of your neck and your breathing hitches as he fingers the collar.
“John,” your voice is wrecked, cracking and cackling like old radio static. He smiles at it and turns the down the vibration. “No, please, please!” There is nonsense pouring from your lips, pleas that drop off your lips like melted sugar, sickly sweet and sticky.
“Good boys listen, don’t they?” His hand snakes around your neck. You can feel the ridge between his index and thumb against your adam’s apple and swallow hard; he presses the bottom of the collar down along your collar bone. He squeezes, slowly cutting off your air. It rattles through your throat until his grip makes the corner of your eyes black and foggy, all the while you can feeling him turning the levels up, making it more intense. You writhe under him.
“Listen better,” and he lets go of your throat, fingertips ducking into the divot of your clavicle just under the collar and along your heaving chest.
Your first breath is deep, frenzied, the rush making your cock jump, and your exhalation is nothing short of a moan. Jerks dance along your body and pinpricks of heat bite at you. His fingers cool against your skin and you bite your lip when he flicks one finger across a pert nipple.
“Good little slut,” his words sultry and deep. God you love John like this, everything is teasing and dark and laced with something that has the distinct taste of arsenic and paradise on your tongue. So different from the John that is all smiles and snark and stupid taste in movies.
You pant under his fingers.
“I can play you like a piano, can’t I?” He laughs at his own stupid joke as he stands away from you. “Make all the sounds I want from you.” John turns up the vibrations and it makes you yelp, turns it down and you whine. His hands are in your hair and yanking you back before you realize, your spine bent at an obscene angle as he forces you to look at the ceiling. The noise that is yanked from your throat is too heady to be a sigh. “Just listen to you, perfect little cockslut, with your dripping dick and mouth open wide.”
Your mouth is dry and tears prick at your eyes with the way he pulls your hair. God the flush on your face burns, molten down your neck and chest and shoulders. Heat slithers up your back and travels in cold goosebumps along your arms.
John’s fingers ease in your hair, travel down your neck and tug lightly at the collar, following the knobs in your spine until he hits your tied wrists. He splays your fingers, tracing each one of them in cruel slowness, before he rubs up your arms and shoulders and sweeps across your shoulder blades.
Everywhere he touches is ice trailed by fire, slow and consuming. You clench and unclench your hands.
“Such a whore, you’d get on your knees for anyone wouldn’t you?” He sticks his fingers in your mouth before you can begin to think of an answer. Pushing against your tongue, thrusting when you get the idea, he brings his wet fingers out and drags them along your chin. “But you can’t, because you are mine.” John loops a finger in the ring of the collar and tugs twice.
You nod. “All yours.”
“Good boy.” The sybian jumps a level and the muscles in your thighs twitch.
A noise escapes you, high and reedy as you roll your hips along with a wave of pleasure.
“Not yet, not until I say.”
“Fuck,” you say. Short and concise and needy. You are shaking. You can feel the quakes in your abdomen where your muscles flutter.
John keeps toying with the levels, absurdly high and then nothing but a dull thrum. Every time you get close, every time your dick drips, he nearly turns it off. You rock with it, hips rutting of their own accord, clench your teeth to prevent anything. Sweat drips from your temples and your armpits and your chest. You can feel it at the backs of your knees as you squirm.
He keeps walking around you, tossing words into the air and watching them crash into you. Slut and whore and bitch; you moan for his voice and everything that comes with it.
Your legs won’t stop shivering, and you press them in to stave off the pressure that builds at your pelvis.
“John, I- I can’t, please, I-” you’re all stutters and moans, a begging mess with your hair disheveled and sticking to your forehead.
He tuts and moves closer to you, “Do you need my help?” He says it with enough patronization that you lower your eyes. He yanks your head up, turns the sybian down to a dull buzz that travels enough that you feel it in the meat of your ass. John lets go of your hair, caresses your face in an intimacy that feels too white hot for this, and rubs a thumb under your bottom lip.
“Open.” You do. Tongue out to greet his cock as he slides into your mouth, he hisses, and the sound makes you moan as you close your lips around him. His first few rocks are shallow, nearly gentle, before he has one hand gripping tight at the back of your head and ramming into you.
You gag and choke, spit shines on his cock and clings to your lips. Your chin drips.
“Such a good boy,” and fuck it makes your cock jump as he hits the back of your throat, clings to your hair and makes you take more of him. Nose against his base and away again, he is salty and bitter and you fucking love it, swallowing everything he gives you, pre and the head and you moan around his dick and he murmurs how good you are, so so good. Your fingernails dig into your palms.
You want to touch him, your shoulders strain with the urge, but he has such control over you. The thought makes you shudder and it makes the metal ring on the collar give the slightest jingle. The sybian keeps alternating in intensity, so harsh that he yanks your hair when you forget about teeth, so soft that he praises what you can do with your tongue.
With his dick down your throat he comes, riding it out. You try to swallow but fuck it all, as he pulls out, so spills out come and spit. You watch as it lands thickly on the body of the sybian. Breath heaving, pants heard only as moans, you shake with need and god you would rut if you had the capacity to.
John kneels to your level, swips a thumb along the stripe of come that lines your chin and presses it into your mouth. He smiles when you suck eagerly.
He leans in, his lips brushing your skin, “Such a good boy,” you jolt at the sensation of his breath on you. There are hints of his teeth as he kisses at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, one hand snaking down your abdomen. He flicks across a nipple and soothes it with a rub; his fingers dance at your side then brush away the sensation with a smooth palm.
You are jittery under his fingers, incomprehensible and wanting, so so wanting.
John presses against your sternum, slowly drifting his hand lower, lower, across your navel. His fingers press and tickle as he scrapes across your body, infinite in the pleasure and the torment. You want his mouth on you, his teeth, you want his nails to bite into you and mark you up. You want anything he will give, and will take it gladly.
“Such a good boy,” everything stops. He and the sybian are still. That fucking dick.
Every nerve comes alight at once, you are desperate under his touch. “Please please please,” you repeat the word again and again, each time raising in octave and gasp and shudder and moan. You press your body into his hand, move your hips against the machine and thrust closer to him, you search for any kind of friction as your mind blanks with need.
“John, please fuck fuck please I’m begging you.” You hear him giggle, fucking giggle, and you should be mad, but there is the burn of tears at your eyes and your eyebrows are knotted so far up your forehead aches. You almost miss it in your movement when he turns the sybian back on to the lowest setting.
His hand is dipping along your hip bones and follows the line to the base of your dick.
You arch and let out a low moan when he finally grasps you. You can see the remote in his other hand, watch the way his thumb toys with it before upping the level. He jerks you along with the intensity of the sybian, gaining speed and force when he raises the levels.
You are melting. Your breath is hot on your lips and your sweat is acid on your skin, hot hot hot, your heartbeat pounds the word, makes everything sear in beautiful agony.
John kisses you, hot and heavy, teeth and tongue, making you bow over the machine. It vibrates in earnest at the highest setting, and John’s hand is heavy on your dick.
“Come on, cockslut, my perfect little whore, show me what you got.”
The moan rips out of your throat, tears at your lips and wrecks through the room as you come. John’s name is on your tongue as pleasure rushes through you, arching, a strung bow, the perfect arc of the swing of a sword god fucking shit fuck shit shit shit. Your mind blanks completely as white takes over your vision. Everything is too intense as he milks you dry, kisses you and marks you, licks beneath the collar and tugs at it with his teeth.
You’re shaking in his arms as the afterglow brings your sight back. The sybian is cruel against your sensitive legs, and he is quick to turn it off. John murmurs to you, but you’re not sure of what he says. He holds you by your shoulder as he unties your arms, and they fall limply at your sides when they are free.
“So good, so beautiful, love you so much,” he whispers it into your hair as he pulls you into his lap, massaging at your neck as he removes the collar and curling his hands around yours as pins and needles bite at bloodflow.
It’s a short walk to the bedroom, and he lays you down gently, wash rag ready. He wipes you down with care, and tells you not to speak when you try.
“I know,” he says simply. He rinses himself off too before climbing into bed with you and wrapping a secure arm around you.
You turn to face him, say, “I love you,” in a voice that is beyond wrecked and beyond recognition.
“I love you,” he kisses your forehead, and in his arms you sleep.