Nine Hours of Torture - Part XVI
FIC: Nine Hours, Part XVI
Sorry it’s so late! But better late then never. I hope. Um. Yeah. Flames to the left, slings and arrows to the right, and please. No burning in effigy. I’m trying to cut down. Unbeta'd because I suck that way.
A refresher on the maddness.
It all started when
temve got evil, here.
Then
kyrre took the crack bunny and ran with it.
Then came:
Part III by
Part IV by
meletor_et_al
Part V by
shrieking_ell
Part VI by
imadra_blue
Part VII by
lady_elina
Part VIII b y
kyrre
Part IX by
rabidfangurl
Part X by
meletor_et_al
Part XI by
temve
Part XII by
lady_elina
Part XIII by
phurie_dae
Part XIV by
shrieking_ell
Part XV by
temve
…who left us hanging here:
"No," he continued, his voice dropping to a sensuous growl, his face twisted in a smirk that was terrifyingly Ducard-like, "I would put my hand inside you, my whole hand, and fuck you with that until you're streaked with tears and have no voice left to beg with. Oh, I would enjoy that, make no mistake -"
The noise threw Bruce completely, and he blinked in reflex. Had that really been a... a whimper?
When Ducard tried to shift away from Bruce and the sound repeated, the vicious smirk that marred Bruce’s features turned into a grin. However the expression didn’t alter the timbre of his voice, nor did it alter his determination to make Henri crack.
“You want my hand inside you, buried to the wrist. You want it finding all those spots inside you that make the world fall away in pleasure. You want to be naked, bound, at my mercy,” he whispered, licking Ducard’s knee. His thigh. A small smirk when he knew those legs parted a bit wider for him. Each sentence was punctuated by Bruce’s fingers lingering close to, but never touching Henri’s cock. Bruce could feel the heat of it, could feel the tension in Ducard’s body as the man fought with himself not to give in, not to move, not to make a sound. Pride is what was at stake here, Bruce realized. The same pride Ducard brutally ripped out of Bruce each day, the same pride stolen from Bruce with each punch, each kick, each time he landed on the floor, each time a bamboo cane bruised or broke his skin. It all came down to pride. Understanding this now, he was able to relax, his own needs buried under wanting to break the man beneath him the same way that man had been breaking him daily, starting with Bruce’s very first step towards the mountain.
"You want to belong to me. Just say yes, Henri, and you'll get what you want."
Like hell he would. Bruce was intent on drawing it out as long as he could.
With ease, Bruce flipped Henri from his back to his front, and Henri felt every splinter of the floor digging into his chest, into his thighs, into his painfully erect cock. Bruce was learning and if the situation wasn’t so laughable, so desperate on his end, Henri thought, he may have told the boy he was proud of him. Ducard was so lost in his musings he hadn't struggled when Bruce turned him over and even though it was already done he gave a half-hearted struggle at best. He was curious to see what his boy would do now. Just then the light scent of jojoba oil smothered his senses and there was a slender, infinitely gentle finger smoothing over the puckered hole before making its way inside his body. Henri jerked, body spasming at the unusual feeling. Oh some time ago he’d enjoyed this, enjoyed being opened, taken, and conquered. But that was so long ago.
Bruce leaned down to kiss a shoulder, whispering promises of how he was going to proceed, what he was going to do, explaining in the deepest detail he could manage. Ducard groaned audibly as his body stretched for the second finger, and moments later a third. Henri closed his eyes, head tilting ever so slightly and against his will into the voice. It rose in pitch, dipped, soothed, promised and praised and Henri was nearly quivering with need when the fingers were removed. Bruce looked down at the man, helpless, quivering, breathing quickly and just smiled. His own needs were under control, the sensation of power layered over arousal and exhaustion made him nearly giddy. And he began to laugh.
It was about pride, and the laughter sounding suddenly so loud and unexpected to his ears hit a nerve as nothing else had before. The steel grip Henri kept on his control was gone, shattered against the barrage of laughter.
“Just finish it, damn you,” Ducard rasped. “When you untie me the punishment you’ll get for this will outstrip anything done to you before-“ And before Ducard could finish his threat, Bruce had balled up the saliva soaked gauntlet he’d been gagged with earlier and tucked it into Henri’s mouth.
“I don’t remember giving you permission to speak.” A soft pause, his lips brushing right against Ducard’s ear as he spoke. “Boy.”
Sorry it’s so late! But better late then never. I hope. Um. Yeah. Flames to the left, slings and arrows to the right, and please. No burning in effigy. I’m trying to cut down. Unbeta'd because I suck that way.
A refresher on the maddness.
It all started when
temve got evil, here.
Then
kyrre took the crack bunny and ran with it.
Then came:
Part III by
Part IV by
meletor_et_al
Part V by
shrieking_ell
Part VI by
imadra_blue
Part VII by
lady_elina
Part VIII b y
kyrre
Part IX by
rabidfangurl
Part X by
meletor_et_al
Part XI by
temve
Part XII by
lady_elina
Part XIII by
phurie_dae
Part XIV by
shrieking_ell
Part XV by
temve
…who left us hanging here:
"No," he continued, his voice dropping to a sensuous growl, his face twisted in a smirk that was terrifyingly Ducard-like, "I would put my hand inside you, my whole hand, and fuck you with that until you're streaked with tears and have no voice left to beg with. Oh, I would enjoy that, make no mistake -"
The noise threw Bruce completely, and he blinked in reflex. Had that really been a... a whimper?
When Ducard tried to shift away from Bruce and the sound repeated, the vicious smirk that marred Bruce’s features turned into a grin. However the expression didn’t alter the timbre of his voice, nor did it alter his determination to make Henri crack.
“You want my hand inside you, buried to the wrist. You want it finding all those spots inside you that make the world fall away in pleasure. You want to be naked, bound, at my mercy,” he whispered, licking Ducard’s knee. His thigh. A small smirk when he knew those legs parted a bit wider for him. Each sentence was punctuated by Bruce’s fingers lingering close to, but never touching Henri’s cock. Bruce could feel the heat of it, could feel the tension in Ducard’s body as the man fought with himself not to give in, not to move, not to make a sound. Pride is what was at stake here, Bruce realized. The same pride Ducard brutally ripped out of Bruce each day, the same pride stolen from Bruce with each punch, each kick, each time he landed on the floor, each time a bamboo cane bruised or broke his skin. It all came down to pride. Understanding this now, he was able to relax, his own needs buried under wanting to break the man beneath him the same way that man had been breaking him daily, starting with Bruce’s very first step towards the mountain.
"You want to belong to me. Just say yes, Henri, and you'll get what you want."
Like hell he would. Bruce was intent on drawing it out as long as he could.
With ease, Bruce flipped Henri from his back to his front, and Henri felt every splinter of the floor digging into his chest, into his thighs, into his painfully erect cock. Bruce was learning and if the situation wasn’t so laughable, so desperate on his end, Henri thought, he may have told the boy he was proud of him. Ducard was so lost in his musings he hadn't struggled when Bruce turned him over and even though it was already done he gave a half-hearted struggle at best. He was curious to see what his boy would do now. Just then the light scent of jojoba oil smothered his senses and there was a slender, infinitely gentle finger smoothing over the puckered hole before making its way inside his body. Henri jerked, body spasming at the unusual feeling. Oh some time ago he’d enjoyed this, enjoyed being opened, taken, and conquered. But that was so long ago.
Bruce leaned down to kiss a shoulder, whispering promises of how he was going to proceed, what he was going to do, explaining in the deepest detail he could manage. Ducard groaned audibly as his body stretched for the second finger, and moments later a third. Henri closed his eyes, head tilting ever so slightly and against his will into the voice. It rose in pitch, dipped, soothed, promised and praised and Henri was nearly quivering with need when the fingers were removed. Bruce looked down at the man, helpless, quivering, breathing quickly and just smiled. His own needs were under control, the sensation of power layered over arousal and exhaustion made him nearly giddy. And he began to laugh.
It was about pride, and the laughter sounding suddenly so loud and unexpected to his ears hit a nerve as nothing else had before. The steel grip Henri kept on his control was gone, shattered against the barrage of laughter.
“Just finish it, damn you,” Ducard rasped. “When you untie me the punishment you’ll get for this will outstrip anything done to you before-“ And before Ducard could finish his threat, Bruce had balled up the saliva soaked gauntlet he’d been gagged with earlier and tucked it into Henri’s mouth.
“I don’t remember giving you permission to speak.” A soft pause, his lips brushing right against Ducard’s ear as he spoke. “Boy.”