They're doing a scene tonight.
Carlos has had it on his calendar for weeks. He doesn't know exactly what Cecil has planned, but they've been doing this for long enough that he trusts Cecil to know his likes and dislikes, to concoct something that will make his toes curl without ever straying from their established limits.
Carlos likes it rough, very rough, which works out perfectly because Cecil loves to bite and scratch and pinch and slap in bed. Carlos had been too embarrassed to share his preferences when they'd first started sleeping together, until one night when Cecil was sucking on his neck and gently scraped his teeth from chin to collarbone. Carlos had been too surprised to even moan.
"Is that okay?" Cecil said, looking up, worried.
"Harder. Please."
And Cecil had grinned wickedly and proceeded to nip and scrape and bite all along his neck until Carlos was covered in so many marks he had to dig a rarely-worn black turtleneck, a gift from his mother, out of the closet to wear to work the next day. He's not sure his colleagues were fooled.
After that, there had been negotiations, discussions, agreements. Cecil is a very good dominant, with more years of experience under his belt than he can actually count, what with time being weird here and all. They start off slowly, just light scenes to get used to one another's preferences and styles, but once they're comfortable, Carlos opens up to Cecil easily and they begin to indulge some of his wilder fantasies. Cecil has never laughed at him, not once, not even when he suggested that thing with the Jell-O. Carlos has never had a more satisfying sexual relationship in his life, and he can't imagine a better partner than his darling Cecil.
Carlos has to mask his enthusiasm when it's time for him to leave work, lest the other scientists grow suspicious.
"Well, I'll see you all tomorrow," he says, as nonchalantly as he can muster, and deliberately focuses on the pace of his steps as he walks to the door, only speeding up when he hears it shut behind him. He practically jogs to his car. It's silly, he knows, but he's terribly eager to learn what Cecil has in store for him.
When he gets home, he swings the door open and notes that the living room looks the same as usual. That's not really a problem; they play in the living room occasionally, but the bedroom is where most of their scenes take place. If Cecil's set up anything special, it will almost certainly be in there.
"Hello, Carlos," Cecil says, and his voice is deep and sultry. Carlos was right to be excited about the evening ahead; his heart is racing already.
Cecil is lounging on the couch, and lounging really is the only word for it; the way he's stretched over the cushions is casual and seductive all at once.
"Hello, sir," Carlos says, and he shuts the door.
Cecil nods toward the bedroom.
"Go get yourself ready and be back here in five minutes."
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, and Carlos?"
"Hm?"
"Wear that little black dress. With nothing under it."
Carlos has a number of dresses, from pretty floral things he wears in summer to the sparkly blue evening gown he'd worn when Cecil had signed them up to chaperone Janice's school dance. But none of them is quite as special as his little black dress. It's a sweetheart cut, with lace over the collarbone and off the shoulders, and it clings to Carlos' hips and stops at the tops of his thighs. Carlos loves how he looks in it, but not nearly as much as Cecil does.
When he wears it in public, he likes to complement it with his mother's pearl earrings and his silver feather boa, but the earrings will get in the way of Cecil biting his earlobes, and anyway, he's been instructed not to wear anything else, so he slides out of his lab coat, flannel, and jeans and into the dress, feeling a tingle of excitement at the brush of his bare skin against the silky fabric. He feels a little slutty, his ass and cock easily accessible under his short skirt. Cecil is certainly going to take advantage of that.
Carlos washes his face and combs his hair. After smelling his breath, he brushes his teeth, too. He's hoping Cecil will have his tongue awfully far down his throat before long, and he'd like the experience to be pleasant for both of them.
Cecil and Carlos have hanging plants in their living room, big white-and-purple blossoms that look like lilies but move of their own accord and speak to each other in Morse code in the early hours of the morning. They're really just decoys, though, excuses to keep strong hooks attached to the ceiling without raising suspicion. When Carlos returns to the living room, the plants have been moved to the kitchen counter, and a thick black rope is hanging where the coffee table used to be. Carlos inhales sharply when he sees it.
"There you are, Carlos. You almost missed your deadline."
Carlos glances down at the floor.
"Sorry, sir."
"Hm. Get over here quickly and I won't think on it again."
Carlos hustles over to where Cecil is standing next to the rope.
"Cross your wrists over your head."
Carlos complies, and Cecil wraps the rope around his wrists, binding them together above his head. He checks and re-checks the knots, making sure they're tight enough to hold without cutting off his circulation.
"Usual rules tonight, Carlos," he says matter-of-factly.
"Yes, sir."
Cecil steps behind him and for a moment remains completely still. Carlos has to resist the urge to fidget. Then, Cecil's mouth is at his neck, sucking hard against his pulmonary vein.
"Ah," Carlos cries out, and Cecil responds by nipping at the skin along his jawbone. He runs his tongue up Carlos' jaw until he gets to his earlobe, and, just as Carlos had hoped, he sucks on that, too, wet sounds amplified next to Carlos' eardrums. He bites down, too, lightly at first, and then so hard Carlos wonders if his earlobe is still attached to the rest of him.
Cecil likes symmetry, and he gives Carlos' other earlobe the same treatment before sliding his fingers into Carlos' locks, then curling them sharply into a fist and pulling Carlos' head back. Carlos groans at the sensation; Cecil pulling his hair is one of his favorite things. Cecil keeps his fingers wrapped in Carlos' curls while he pulls at the skin on his neck with his teeth, leaving the beginnings of deep bruises as he goes.
"I'm going to leave marks all over you, Carlos," Cecil says into his ear. "I won't hide them. I want all the other scientists to know just how much of a slut you are. And I want the whole town to know you belong to me."
Carlos shivers. He knows Cecil doesn't think that way, not really, and Carlos doesn't really want to be owned, but Cecil possessive is intoxicating. It's like his voice wraps Carlos up, surrounding and claiming him with the lovely, dangerous words he whispers.
"Cecil," Carlos moans, and realizes his mistake too late. Cecil steps in front of him and strikes him hard across the face.
"Try that again."
"Sir! I meant sir."
"That's what I thought."
He hits his other cheek with equal force, and Carlos' lip splits. A few scenes ago, this very thing had panicked Cecil, but since then Carlos has reassured him several times that blood, like tears, is no reason to stop in his book, and this time, instead of concern, Cecil greets the bleeding with an open mouth, dragging his teeth along Carlos' lower lip, drawing out even more blood before licking it up. It's an obscene gesture, and Carlos practically chokes on his moans.
"I don't want to hear that mistake again, Carlos," Cecil says, his lips a fraction of a centimeter from Carlos'. "You won't like what happens if I do."
Carlos suspects he might, in fact, like that very much, but instead he says "yes, sir," and Cecil runs his thumb across Carlos' lip before resuming his position behind him.
Cecil begins running his hands up and down Carlos' chest. Carlos shivers, the touch light and teasing. Then, without warning, Cecil slides his hand down the front of Carlos' dress and pinches a nipple sharply. Carlos yelps.
"I love the sounds you make when I hurt you, Carlos," Cecil says. He pinches his other nipple, and Carlos squeaks. "You like it when I hurt you, don't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Slut." Cecil breathes the word, draws it out long and wicked. Carlos shudders. He doesn't know what it is about that word, but it sends a sharp tingle down his chest and straight to his groin every time Cecil says it to him in that deep, rich radio voice of his.
Cecil isn't done with his nipples; he torments Carlos, rubbing his thumbs in gentle circles around his raised areola, only to pinch and pull and twist moments later, keeping Carlos on edge. His nipples have begun to ache when Cecil pulls his hands out of his dress and comes back around to stand in front of Carlos.
Carlos wants desperately for Cecil to kiss him, but he doesn't. Instead he ducks his head down and bites at Carlos' collarbone, leaving a pretty pattern of bite marks above the lace on Carlos' dress. It's the best accessory Carlos has ever worn with it.
Carlos' nipples hurt like hell, but it's a sweet pain, a pleasurable one. His breathing is heavy now, labored, his dick hard and leaking precome, and Cecil hasn't even touched him below the waist yet.
That doesn't last long, though, because soon Cecil slides to his knees. The movement is anything but submissive; Cecil still holds himself with confidence, strength, and it is Carlos who feels as though he's performing a sexual favor. Cecil pushes his skirt up, and Carlos braces himself for the long-awaited touch to his cock, but it doesn't come.
Instead, Cecil presses his lips to the thinly stretched skin between his hipbone and his cock. Then, he sucks hard, and Carlos gasps loudly. He can feel his skin bruising as Cecil sucks and bites just as hard, maybe harder, than he did on his neck. The skin there is unexpectedly sensitive, and Carlos wouldn't be surprised if he was bleeding. Cecil continues his torture on Carlos' other hip, and Carlos has to bite his lip to keep himself from bucking his hips or begging Cecil to touch his cock.
Cecil runs his hands up the inside of Carlos' legs, starting at his ankles and sliding all the way up, stopping just short of his cock. Carlos tries to suppress a frustrated huff, but it turns quickly into a moan when Cecil runs his nails down his inner thighs. The pain is sharp and delicious, and Carlos' cock twitches from the sensation.
Abruptly, Cecil leans forward and swallows Carlos' cock whole, pressing his tongue hard along the underside and dragging it from the bottom of his shaft to the tip. Carlos groans and throws his head back. Finally, finally, Cecil is touching his cock.
Cecil pulls off. "Does that feel nice, Carlos?"
Carlos can't do anything but nod.
"Too bad. I've still got plenty I want do with you before I give you any satisfaction. I'm going to spank you pink, Carlos, and then I'm going to fuck your thighs until your skin is raw and sore and you're begging me to let you come. But you won't come until I do, Carlos. Then, and only then, will I wrap my hand around your gorgeous cock and stroke you until you fall apart."
Carlos is so turned on he can hardly stand it, but he knows Cecil is as good as his word, so he breathes deeply and braces himself for what's to come. It's not long before Cecil brings a hand down on his ass.
The best part of Cecil spanking him with his hand is knowing that it's only a warmup. Carlos has had other partners spank him in the past, usually halfheartedly, and palms were all he could convince them to use. Cecil has an extensive collection of whips and paddles and floggers and canes, some of which he's owned longer than he can remember, and some of which he and Carlos have bought together. So even as Carlos relishes the sharp sting of Cecil's spanking, he can't help but wonder what's in store for him next.
When Cecil finishes spanking him, he unfastens the rope from the eyehook. Carlos' arms lower, and Cecil massages them gently as blood rushes back into them. Then, he loops a finger between the ropes where Carlos' hands are still tied. "Come along," he says, and tugs. Carlos follows him willingly into the bedroom, where Cecil presses him against the wall, his hands trapped between his chest and the plaster.
His skirt has fallen down his thighs, so Cecil shoves it back up over his hips. "Stay here, slut," he says, and Carlos hears him open the closet and then the locked trunk in the closet that holds their collection of toys.
Carlos' heart pounds in his ears. He wants to rut against the wall, to get some kind of relief after all Cecil's teasing, but he knows he'll be punished for doing so, and that punishment might mean not finding out what Cecil's pulling out of that box.
Cecil doesn't warn him. He brings down the flogger with a crack, and Carlos cries out, half from pain, half from lust. He can't see exactly what Cecil's using, but he guesses it's the pretty black-and-purple flogger they bought together recently, the strands braided to make their impact hard and sharp. Cecil keeps going, increasing the speed and strength with which he brings the flogger down. Hot red streaks of pain stripe Carlos' ass, blood throbbing through his veins as he cries out again and again.
Carlos starts to cry, gentle sobs that don't shake him enough to disrupt Cecil's pattern.
"Color," Cecil barks.
"Green," he says through tears.
Carlos can't wipe his tears away with his hands tied, so instead he lets them run in a wet, steady stream down his face and off his chin. He aches and hurts all over—his neck, his collarbones, his nipples, his hips, his ass— and the pain is almost too much, but at the same Carlos wants more, wants everything Cecil can give him, wants to ache and cry and bleed until he can't take one more minute of it.
Cecil brings the flogger down one more time, then drops it to the floor.
"Oh yes," he says, dark and dangerous. "That's just the right shade of pink." He pinches one of Carlos' cheeks, and Carlos whines in pain.
Cecil steps closer to him and begins grinding against Carlos' ass, teasing the abused flesh there. Carlos whimpers. His skin feels like it's burning, veins pulsing where he's been hit again and again. At the same time, his poor neglected cock is so hard it hurts, the strain of not coming driving Carlos crazy.
Cecil reaches under him to wipe leaking precome off the head of his cock and rubs it along Carlos' shaft and balls. This is all the lube he'll get, Carlos realizes, and with all that friction, Cecil can very well rub him just as raw as he threatened to.
"Legs together," Cecil commands, and Carlos steps his feet in so his thighs are touching. He can hear Cecil undoing his zipper and shuffling his pants and boxers down behind him. Then, Cecil slides his cock between Carlos' legs, slowly, agonizingly, touching every sweet spot on the underside of his cock and balls.
Cecil thrusts slowly, and it's torture, so close to what Carlos needs but so, so far away.
"Please, sir," he moans, and he isn't sure what he's begging for, only that he needs it, needs Cecil, needs something more than what he's getting now.
Cecil clamps a hand over his mouth. "Shut up, slut," he hisses.
If Cecil weren't pressing him against the wall, Carlos might have collapsed from how weak his knees go.
Cecil sets up a punishing pace, thrusting hard and fast and pushing Carlos towards the wall. Carlos gasps and moans and makes sounds he can't quite identify, so far into subspace he couldn't pull himself out if he wanted to, but he trusts Cecil, trusts him not just to bring him to the edge but to pull him back again, too. He lets out intermittent sobs, not crying as steadily as before, but tears still coming and going as Cecil thrusts into the tight space between his thighs.
Cecil's noisy now, too, his breath coming harder and faster, but still he speaks, panting, into Carlos' ear.
"Gods, you look hot in that dress," he says. "I've wanted to fuck you wearing it for ages. You know why, Carlos?"
Cecil's grip on his mouth is so firm that Carlos can't even shake his head.
"Because you're my filthy. Fucking. Slut."
And then Cecil comes with a cry, spurting hot, wet liquid between Carlos' thighs. Carlos lets out muffled whimpers, trying to hold himself back before he comes, too.
Cecil takes only a moment to recover from his orgasm before he's back to his dominant self, although some of the command in his voice has been lost in the blissful afterglow. "Kneel," he says, taking his hand off his mouth, and Carlos does.
A moment later, a towel drops in his lap, and Cecil's long fingers deftly untie his wrists.
"Clean it up," Cecil says, "And then I'll let you come."
There's come on the walls and between Carlos' thighs, and he starts with the wall, hands shaky but determined to follow his orders to the letter. Cleaning himself is harder; even the gentle touch of the cloth to his balls practically pushes him over the edge, but he grits his teeth and breathes through his nose and does as Cecil asked.
When he finishes, Cecil takes the towel from his hand.
"Turn around."
Carlos shuffles an awkward 180 toward Cecil.
Cecil squats down and puts a hand on the side of Carlos' face. "You poor, desperate thing," he says, and then leans in close to his ear. "Come for me."
And then Cecil's hand is on his cock, pumping him hard, and it only takes a few strokes before Carlos follows orders and comes, sobbing, into the towel Cecil holds over tip of his cock. He comes hard, his ears ringing, eyes rolling back in his head, hips twitching as waves of pleasure crash over him.
When he comes to, Cecil is cradling him in his arms, alternating wiping tears from his face and stroking his hair gently.
"Oh, Carlos, my sweet, perfect Carlos," Cecil coos. "You did so well, my love, you were so good."
"Cecil," Carlos murmurs.
"Yes, sweetheart, I'm here. I'm here. I love you."
"Love you, too."
"Let's get you in bed. Can you stand on your own?"
"I don't—I don't know."
"Okay. I've got you."
Cecil wraps an arm around Carlos' waist and another around his shoulders and helps him to standing. Carlos is grateful for the help; he's feeling shaky, and he has to cling to Cecil to make it to the bed. Cecil lays him down gently on his side.
"I'm going to give you some balm, all right, love?"
Cecil rubs the cool, soothing balm against Carlos' ass and along the insides of his thighs. Carlos whimpers softly at the touch. It's gentle, but any touch to his skin stings.
"I know, love, I know. I promise it will feel better in a minute."
Cecil's right, of course. He plays with Carlos' hair while they wait, leaning down to press soft kisses to his nose and forehead. Carlos smiles and makes happy humming sounds, and after a bit, his skin feels better, enough that he can sit up and drink out of the water bottle Cecil presses to his lips.
"How are you feeling?" Cecil asks him when he's finished drinking.
Carlos smiles. "Really, really good," he says. "That scene was...wow."
"Yeah," Cecil says, laughing a bit. "Wow."
"Remind me to wear that dress more often."
"I'll do you one better."
"Oh?"
"I'll order you to wear that dress more often."
Carlos grins and buries his face in Cecil's neck.
"That would be perfect."
