Safe Harbor
Drake takes a lesson from Vicarye. m/m explicit bdsm.
“Harder, Francis, harder,” Vicarye urged. “Thomas is the type of man who must be driven to the very edge of what he can bear.”
Drake complied, bringing the cane sharply once again across the backs of Thomas’ naked thighs. Doughty whimpered; he clutched spasmodically at the bed which he was bent across, but made no complaint.
Critically examining the welts upon Doughty’s flesh, Vicarye suggested, “You might try applying the cane to the soles of his feet. ‘Tis called the bastinado, and is most effective.”
“Thou are the very font of knowledge, Leonard,” said Drake with a hint of sarcasm. “Being but a simple pirate, I had no knowledge of these exquisite tortures practiced among scholars of law.”
“Among gentlemen,” corrected Vicarye, as Drake brought the cruel weapon again to bear on Thomas. “But it is rare to find a submissive with both breeding and natural inclination. Thomas will make you the envy of London, once he is properly trained.”
Thomas buried his face in the pillow to suppress his cries of agony. “And what dost thou get out of it?” asked Drake.
Vicarye grinned. “Haven’t you guessed? I like to watch.” Indeed, Vicarye was also thinking of the pleasant notoriety he would incur when he introduced these two diamonds in the rough - suitably polished - to the underground bdsm scene of Tudor London. “Now do you not forget what Thomas needs.”
“Aye,” said Drake, bending over, putting a comforting hand on Doughty’s head. “Thou art so strong and brave, Thomas. Thou pleasest me much.”
Thomas turned his head to speak. “My Lord is too kind.”
Drake ran his fingers through Thomas’ hair, thick and lovely. He noted that Doughty’s lips were swollen with desire, his face streaked with tears. “Thou art impossibly beautiful,” he said, awestruck. He turned back to Vicarye. “But how do I know when he has had enough?”
Vicarye started, a look of surprise crossing his face. “Of course. I’m sure it never occurred to you…” His face was seized with a sudden smirk. “Yes. A man such as our Thomas would feel it reprehensible to cry mercy, no matter how much you hurt him. Therefore, it is customary to have a signal word or phrase that indicates the submissive partner’s limits have been reached, one that will not cause dishonor should it fall from his lips.”
“Most sensible,” Drake mused. “A phrase, eh?”
“It is traditional to allow the submissive his choice,” said Vicarye, “And in these matters, a sense of tradition is everything.”
Drake guided Doughty back onto the bed. He leaned over Thomas, cradling him gently. “Your choice, then, Thomas,” said Drake. “Say the words that will indicate the meridian whereupon I shall turn back, the perimeter I shall not cross.”
Doughty’s eyes grew distant for a moment, and then he smiled. “San Julian,” he said.
“Harder, Francis, harder,” Vicarye urged. “Thomas is the type of man who must be driven to the very edge of what he can bear.”
Drake complied, bringing the cane sharply once again across the backs of Thomas’ naked thighs. Doughty whimpered; he clutched spasmodically at the bed which he was bent across, but made no complaint.
Critically examining the welts upon Doughty’s flesh, Vicarye suggested, “You might try applying the cane to the soles of his feet. ‘Tis called the bastinado, and is most effective.”
“Thou are the very font of knowledge, Leonard,” said Drake with a hint of sarcasm. “Being but a simple pirate, I had no knowledge of these exquisite tortures practiced among scholars of law.”
“Among gentlemen,” corrected Vicarye, as Drake brought the cruel weapon again to bear on Thomas. “But it is rare to find a submissive with both breeding and natural inclination. Thomas will make you the envy of London, once he is properly trained.”
Thomas buried his face in the pillow to suppress his cries of agony. “And what dost thou get out of it?” asked Drake.
Vicarye grinned. “Haven’t you guessed? I like to watch.” Indeed, Vicarye was also thinking of the pleasant notoriety he would incur when he introduced these two diamonds in the rough - suitably polished - to the underground bdsm scene of Tudor London. “Now do you not forget what Thomas needs.”
“Aye,” said Drake, bending over, putting a comforting hand on Doughty’s head. “Thou art so strong and brave, Thomas. Thou pleasest me much.”
Thomas turned his head to speak. “My Lord is too kind.”
Drake ran his fingers through Thomas’ hair, thick and lovely. He noted that Doughty’s lips were swollen with desire, his face streaked with tears. “Thou art impossibly beautiful,” he said, awestruck. He turned back to Vicarye. “But how do I know when he has had enough?”
Vicarye started, a look of surprise crossing his face. “Of course. I’m sure it never occurred to you…” His face was seized with a sudden smirk. “Yes. A man such as our Thomas would feel it reprehensible to cry mercy, no matter how much you hurt him. Therefore, it is customary to have a signal word or phrase that indicates the submissive partner’s limits have been reached, one that will not cause dishonor should it fall from his lips.”
“Most sensible,” Drake mused. “A phrase, eh?”
“It is traditional to allow the submissive his choice,” said Vicarye, “And in these matters, a sense of tradition is everything.”
Drake guided Doughty back onto the bed. He leaned over Thomas, cradling him gently. “Your choice, then, Thomas,” said Drake. “Say the words that will indicate the meridian whereupon I shall turn back, the perimeter I shall not cross.”
Doughty’s eyes grew distant for a moment, and then he smiled. “San Julian,” he said.