[FIC] GW: Form of Punishment
Christmas fic for cozzybob, who asked for a BDSM Dx4 fic. I hope you enjoy this, dear. -grins-
Yes, I know it's extremely early, but mehh...
Form of Punishment
Pairing: Dx4
Rating: NC-17/MA
Words: 2560
Warnings: Het, smut, BDSM
Summary: ‘Why struggle, Mister Quatre? Why fight?’
He waited, breath catching in his throat as his eyes stopped at the door. He waited, barely moving in fear of making a sound. He waited, not daring to open his mouth in case he scream and choke. He bit down harder on the black ball gag between his teeth, straining against the handcuffs that chained him to the bed.
The room was a sexual fantasy, the walls and ceiling and floors were nonexistent, replaced by shiny mirrors that mocked him by showing his helpless, naked reflection. The bed itself was lush and soft, covered by black sheets that absorbed all the light that dared come near it. The many candles seated on the mirrors, giving the room an ethereal glow, provided the only light in the room. For him, he saw not the beauty but the shadows that lurked in the corners, although there should be none due to the mirrors.
A creak alerted him to someone coming in, and he turned his head to stare. The long, silky blonde hair, falling to the thighs, the oh-so-familiar smug grin made his eyes widened.
Dorothy Catalonia.
He gaped at her, eyes filled with anxiety and anticipation when he saw the two black boxes that she had brought. She walked slowly, never hurrying, towards him, the smirk growing even wider when she saw him He felt a faint tinge of fear then, a frisson that ran through his body and made all the hairs at the back of his neck stand. His nerves were on fire, on alert, for an attack. He knew that, in his state, it was futile that fight, to struggle. He still tried.
Dorothy walked towards him, placing the two boxes on a nightstand that he had not noticed before. She smirked, a mockery of a smile, as she climbed on the bed beside him. He realized then that she wore nothing but a sheer black bodysuit that hid nothing. He tensed, anticipating an attack when she leaned in close to his ear, whispering so softly that he had to strain to hear. He wished that he hadn’t.
“Why struggle, Mister Quatre? Why fight? This is your punishment, your penance, for your deeds against the people as a Gundam pilot. You crave forgiveness, punishment, penance. I shall give that to you, Mister Quatre. Pleasure and pain can be a form of punishment, don’t you know, Mister Quatre?
He slumped; knowing what she spoke of was the truth. He wanted, no, needed punishment, even though many had told him that he was already forgiven. It would be ironic that the one who had almost killed him would be the same person who would give him what he needed. In an odd way, it was almost poetic.
His eyes glared daggers at her even when he had stopped struggling. He might accept the situation, yes, but he did not have to like it, he did not have to like the way the ‘punishment’ was dispensed.
Dorothy chuckled, a low, melodious sound that seemed completely out of place in the room. She reached over and took one of the black boxes, opening it and withdrawing a long, golden chain which glinted in the candlelight. His eyes widened when she removed it completely, closing the black box and returning it to the nightstand. Two clamps were at each end of the chain, with a cylinder at the end. The whole thing was golden, blinking seductively in the light.
She smirked as he started struggling again. It seemed that Mister Quatre wasn’t so innocent as to not know what these were. She placed a hand at his chest, stopping his struggles, as her smirk grew even wider. Slowly, deliberately, she brought the chain down, resting it on his torso as she began to open the clamps. Her eyes never left his.
Quatre’s breath caught in his throat as he saw her slowly opening the clamp, hissing softly as the cold metal touched his skin. He wanted to stop her, to shout at her to stop, but he didn’t. He had come too far for that, and the ball gag prevented him from making any sound. He hated the restrain, hated the fact that he was absolutely helpless and under her mercy.
She smiled mockingly as she opened a single clamp, bringing it near a nipple and watching, almost impassively, as his breath quickened and his eyes widened. The cold metal met the skin, and a soft hiss escaped from the gag. Her smile widened as she repeated the process, then bent, still silent, and began to kiss her way down the planes of his chest. It was not time yet to use the other one, still left in the box.
He arched involuntarily, body rising as fire burst in his veins. Long, heavy silk caressed his skin along with her lips as her blonde hair fell around her, hiding her from view. Soft kisses trailed down his skin and he gasped as sensations overwhelmed him. The gag in his mouth swallowed the soft sound.
Dorothy smirked, continuing her ministrations as she watched him thrashed against the restraints. Who would have thought that Quatre Winner would be so responsive to pain? She had suspected, yes, but this was definitely a pleasant surprise. Lifting her head up, she met his eyes. Blue clouded with a mixture of lust and pain and pleasure met hers and she nodded mentally. He was ready.
She stood suddenly, the loss of contact making Quatre blink and strain against the handcuffs. He knew that there would be bruises on his wrists tomorrow, for he did not care right now. A small whimper escaped his throat, but he clamped down on the gag, stopping the sound in its tracks. He would not appear so weak in front of her. He would not.
Seemingly oblivious to his internal battle, Dorothy reached towards the nightstand for the second black box. She opened it slowly, eyes kept over the edge of the lid to watch Quatre’s reaction. With careful deliberation, she lifted the silver wand from the velvet-lined box.
His eyes widened once more when they rested on the silver wand, encircled by a ring that gleamed in the light. It seemed that Dorothy was extremely appreciative of toys made of precious metals. His struggles renewed as she closed the box, placing it back on the nightstand and climbed back into the large bed, holding the wand in her hand.
A Prince’s Wand, he had heard of those. It was rather appropriate for him, for how many times had he been called the Desert Prince? He realized that Dorothy knew the fact, and had chosen the toy for that very reason.
Dorothy straddled him, sitting across his thighs. A finger, coated by a silk glove, ran from the base of his length to the tip, lingering at the small slit. She bent, licking softly and thrusting her tongue into the slit. It was a totally unexpected move.
He bucked, jerking his hips up and gasping through the gag at the sudden, unexpected pleasure that came from that single move. His shaft was already half-hard, and it jerked to life. He turned away, staring at the nightstand in a futile effort not to look into Dorothy’s eyes. He was ashamed of his body’s reaction.
Taking the tip of the growing erection in her lips, she began to suckle softly, running her tongue down the length. Dorothy smiled as the first drop of pre-cum dropped on his lips, and she licked it. The bittersweet taste was strangely addictive. She swirled her tongue, licking up the drops that had gathered around the reddened head. Lifting her head, she stared straight into her captive’s eyes, running her tongue over her lips and watching him blush. It was oddly endearing.
When she judged that he was ready, she took the wand in her hands, running a finger up the thin metallic shaft, eyes never leaving Quatre. Without a word of warning, she placed the tip at the slit of his erection, pushing it in slowly.
Pain was the first sensation that shot through him, pain as he was invaded in a place that was never meant to be touched. He pulled against the restraints, the pain caused by the metal cutting into his skin ignored as he jerked his hips up in an attempt to remove the intruder. He bit down hard on the gag to stop himself from shouting as the cold metal shocked his nerves. A hand on his hip made him look up into blue eyes, and Dorothy shook her head, raising a hand to shake a disapproving finger.
She leaned in towards him, long blonde hair sweeping across his skin like silk. He shivered, partly due to the pain, partly due to the cold and partly in anticipation. A soft whisper, barely louder than a breath, breezed past his ear and he strained to hear the words.
“You mustn’t move, Mister Quatre. You really shouldn’t…”
In that instant, he stopped fighting. The soft, compelling voice and the underlying dangerous tone compelled him to. He was a soldier, and a soldier could always recognize danger instinctively. He knew that, if he moved, there would be danger.
Dorothy smirked slightly, then continued. Fingers trailed along his torso, skin calloused by swordplay danced across his skin, tracing invisible patterns that not even he could see. Another hand pushed the metal wand even deeper inside him, until it came to the stop, the ring encircling it tight across his length.
He barely breathed, clenching his fists in a futile attempt to regain control over his own body. Harsh pants escaped him and were ignored. He didn’t move even as the pain intensified, biting down on the gag to take his mind from the pain.
It slowly abated, leaving him sweat-soaked and panting, staring at his captor from under blond bangs. She smiled almost predatorily at him, bending down, hair falling to cover her face as she slowly, sensually, licked his erection from base to the tip.
His whole body jerked, arching up to the teasing touch. A strangled scream escaped him, and he shivered He slumped back on the bed, panting as his spots appeared in his vision as he fought to breathe. It seemed rather ridiculous that he would have such a reaction to something so brief, but not even a Gundam pilot could fully control his body.
Dorothy smiled, then, when she was sure that he was calm again, she consciously relaxed her throat muscles. In one fell swoop, she took his whole length into her mouth, and swallowed, throat muscles clenching around the organ.
Quatre’s eyes flew open, and he gasped, almost biting through the gag in an attempt to stop from shouting incoherently. The hot wetness of Dorothy’s mouth sent shivers throughout his whole body, and sensations almost overwhelmed him. Pleasure and lust shot through him like a bullet from a gun, and he bucked his hips, thrusting unconsciously into the warm cavern.
She swallowed repeatedly, smirking mentally as he jerked and thrashed on the bed. With a hand, she ran a silk-covered finger down his heavy balls, stroking and teasing them as they drew up, almost ready to release their seed. She pushed them down, denying release as much as the wand did. Another hand reached up, teasing the fine blond curls at the base of his cock, tracing a path up until she touched his neglected nipples, pinching at the oversensitive nubs.
He screamed, tossing his head back and forth as he pulled against the handcuffs. The teasing touches were too much, and there was no way that he could reach completion. His body was as tense as a drawn bowstring, ready to release. His eyes looked down towards Dorothy, imploring, begging, her to allow him release. She was right; he thought as his mind was infused in a haze of pleasure and pain, pleasure could be a torture. It is a torture.
Dorothy caught his gaze, reading the plea easily. She smiled, drawing off him with one, final lick. She ignored the soft, protesting whimper. Climbing up towards him, she made sure that her hair and her clothes brushed past his skin in the briefest of touches. It would be absolutely torture, she knew. She bent down towards his ear once more; hand on the clasp that kept the ball gag in his mouth.
“Beg, Mister Quatre, beg me for release, beg me to deliver to you the punishment and forgiveness you so wanted. Beg me to end this torture, Mister Quatre. Beg.”
She undid the clasp, pulling it off his mouth. Tilting her head slightly, she waited expectantly for his answer. Her fingers danced their way down his torso, teasing him. He narrowed his eyes, whispering a soft ‘please’. She shook her head, pretending not to hear.
“What is it, Mister Quatre? You should speak louder, you know. I can’t hear you…”
He glared at her, pants echoing in the silent room. His face was flushed, his wrists reddened from the strain of constant pulling. He took a deep breath, then spoke, voice low,
“Please.”
She shook her head once more, signalling that she still could not hear him. Quatre glared at her, hands clenching into fists as he took another breath. This time, he shouted, eyes almost glowing in frustration and interrupted pleasure,
“Please, Dorothy, please stop torturing me. Please!”
She smiled, pleased. Standing up, she placed a hand at both nipple clamps. Her eyes never leaving his, she whispered, “All you have to do is ask, Mister Quatre.”
She released the nipple clamps, and Quatre shouted as pain shot through him as blood returned to the neglected nubs. A hand brushed against them, and he had to bite his lip to prevent himself from screaming. Another hand on his erection, on the very tip as the Prince’s wand was removed from him. Before he realized the sensation of being released, a warm mouth covered the tip, suckling once. The combination of pain and pleasure was too much, and he came.
He threw his head back, hitting the headboard but he didn’t care. Hands clenched into fists and eyes closed as he screamed unintelligibly, all control gone. His arms strained against the handcuffs, muscles straining in vain. The orgasm was more intense than anything else that he had ever felt, and it seemed to go on forever.
Dorothy smirked as she swallowed the white-hot seed spilled from him. It was a magnificent sight. Quatre Winner in the throes of passion, all control gone, unneeded in the situation. When the shudders finally stopped, she withdrew, licking her lips as she looked at the man still chained to the bed.
Quatre panted, trying to catch his breath in the afterglow of orgasm. He briefly felt a hand behind him and a soft ‘click’ sounded in the room. He blinked. Dorothy had removed the handcuffs, leaving him freed. Turning, he saw the blonde lean down to him again, and he tensed, expecting a blow or an insult. He was wrong.
“I hope that you’ll forgive yourself after this, Mister Winner. Your punishment is over, you can stop blaming yourself.”
Tossing back a familiar smirk, Dorothy walked towards the door, carrying all of the toys. She left Quatre behind stunned, gaping after her.
Owari
Yes, I know it's extremely early, but mehh...
Form of Punishment
Pairing: Dx4
Rating: NC-17/MA
Words: 2560
Warnings: Het, smut, BDSM
Summary: ‘Why struggle, Mister Quatre? Why fight?’
He waited, breath catching in his throat as his eyes stopped at the door. He waited, barely moving in fear of making a sound. He waited, not daring to open his mouth in case he scream and choke. He bit down harder on the black ball gag between his teeth, straining against the handcuffs that chained him to the bed.
The room was a sexual fantasy, the walls and ceiling and floors were nonexistent, replaced by shiny mirrors that mocked him by showing his helpless, naked reflection. The bed itself was lush and soft, covered by black sheets that absorbed all the light that dared come near it. The many candles seated on the mirrors, giving the room an ethereal glow, provided the only light in the room. For him, he saw not the beauty but the shadows that lurked in the corners, although there should be none due to the mirrors.
A creak alerted him to someone coming in, and he turned his head to stare. The long, silky blonde hair, falling to the thighs, the oh-so-familiar smug grin made his eyes widened.
Dorothy Catalonia.
He gaped at her, eyes filled with anxiety and anticipation when he saw the two black boxes that she had brought. She walked slowly, never hurrying, towards him, the smirk growing even wider when she saw him He felt a faint tinge of fear then, a frisson that ran through his body and made all the hairs at the back of his neck stand. His nerves were on fire, on alert, for an attack. He knew that, in his state, it was futile that fight, to struggle. He still tried.
Dorothy walked towards him, placing the two boxes on a nightstand that he had not noticed before. She smirked, a mockery of a smile, as she climbed on the bed beside him. He realized then that she wore nothing but a sheer black bodysuit that hid nothing. He tensed, anticipating an attack when she leaned in close to his ear, whispering so softly that he had to strain to hear. He wished that he hadn’t.
“Why struggle, Mister Quatre? Why fight? This is your punishment, your penance, for your deeds against the people as a Gundam pilot. You crave forgiveness, punishment, penance. I shall give that to you, Mister Quatre. Pleasure and pain can be a form of punishment, don’t you know, Mister Quatre?
He slumped; knowing what she spoke of was the truth. He wanted, no, needed punishment, even though many had told him that he was already forgiven. It would be ironic that the one who had almost killed him would be the same person who would give him what he needed. In an odd way, it was almost poetic.
His eyes glared daggers at her even when he had stopped struggling. He might accept the situation, yes, but he did not have to like it, he did not have to like the way the ‘punishment’ was dispensed.
Dorothy chuckled, a low, melodious sound that seemed completely out of place in the room. She reached over and took one of the black boxes, opening it and withdrawing a long, golden chain which glinted in the candlelight. His eyes widened when she removed it completely, closing the black box and returning it to the nightstand. Two clamps were at each end of the chain, with a cylinder at the end. The whole thing was golden, blinking seductively in the light.
She smirked as he started struggling again. It seemed that Mister Quatre wasn’t so innocent as to not know what these were. She placed a hand at his chest, stopping his struggles, as her smirk grew even wider. Slowly, deliberately, she brought the chain down, resting it on his torso as she began to open the clamps. Her eyes never left his.
Quatre’s breath caught in his throat as he saw her slowly opening the clamp, hissing softly as the cold metal touched his skin. He wanted to stop her, to shout at her to stop, but he didn’t. He had come too far for that, and the ball gag prevented him from making any sound. He hated the restrain, hated the fact that he was absolutely helpless and under her mercy.
She smiled mockingly as she opened a single clamp, bringing it near a nipple and watching, almost impassively, as his breath quickened and his eyes widened. The cold metal met the skin, and a soft hiss escaped from the gag. Her smile widened as she repeated the process, then bent, still silent, and began to kiss her way down the planes of his chest. It was not time yet to use the other one, still left in the box.
He arched involuntarily, body rising as fire burst in his veins. Long, heavy silk caressed his skin along with her lips as her blonde hair fell around her, hiding her from view. Soft kisses trailed down his skin and he gasped as sensations overwhelmed him. The gag in his mouth swallowed the soft sound.
Dorothy smirked, continuing her ministrations as she watched him thrashed against the restraints. Who would have thought that Quatre Winner would be so responsive to pain? She had suspected, yes, but this was definitely a pleasant surprise. Lifting her head up, she met his eyes. Blue clouded with a mixture of lust and pain and pleasure met hers and she nodded mentally. He was ready.
She stood suddenly, the loss of contact making Quatre blink and strain against the handcuffs. He knew that there would be bruises on his wrists tomorrow, for he did not care right now. A small whimper escaped his throat, but he clamped down on the gag, stopping the sound in its tracks. He would not appear so weak in front of her. He would not.
Seemingly oblivious to his internal battle, Dorothy reached towards the nightstand for the second black box. She opened it slowly, eyes kept over the edge of the lid to watch Quatre’s reaction. With careful deliberation, she lifted the silver wand from the velvet-lined box.
His eyes widened once more when they rested on the silver wand, encircled by a ring that gleamed in the light. It seemed that Dorothy was extremely appreciative of toys made of precious metals. His struggles renewed as she closed the box, placing it back on the nightstand and climbed back into the large bed, holding the wand in her hand.
A Prince’s Wand, he had heard of those. It was rather appropriate for him, for how many times had he been called the Desert Prince? He realized that Dorothy knew the fact, and had chosen the toy for that very reason.
Dorothy straddled him, sitting across his thighs. A finger, coated by a silk glove, ran from the base of his length to the tip, lingering at the small slit. She bent, licking softly and thrusting her tongue into the slit. It was a totally unexpected move.
He bucked, jerking his hips up and gasping through the gag at the sudden, unexpected pleasure that came from that single move. His shaft was already half-hard, and it jerked to life. He turned away, staring at the nightstand in a futile effort not to look into Dorothy’s eyes. He was ashamed of his body’s reaction.
Taking the tip of the growing erection in her lips, she began to suckle softly, running her tongue down the length. Dorothy smiled as the first drop of pre-cum dropped on his lips, and she licked it. The bittersweet taste was strangely addictive. She swirled her tongue, licking up the drops that had gathered around the reddened head. Lifting her head, she stared straight into her captive’s eyes, running her tongue over her lips and watching him blush. It was oddly endearing.
When she judged that he was ready, she took the wand in her hands, running a finger up the thin metallic shaft, eyes never leaving Quatre. Without a word of warning, she placed the tip at the slit of his erection, pushing it in slowly.
Pain was the first sensation that shot through him, pain as he was invaded in a place that was never meant to be touched. He pulled against the restraints, the pain caused by the metal cutting into his skin ignored as he jerked his hips up in an attempt to remove the intruder. He bit down hard on the gag to stop himself from shouting as the cold metal shocked his nerves. A hand on his hip made him look up into blue eyes, and Dorothy shook her head, raising a hand to shake a disapproving finger.
She leaned in towards him, long blonde hair sweeping across his skin like silk. He shivered, partly due to the pain, partly due to the cold and partly in anticipation. A soft whisper, barely louder than a breath, breezed past his ear and he strained to hear the words.
“You mustn’t move, Mister Quatre. You really shouldn’t…”
In that instant, he stopped fighting. The soft, compelling voice and the underlying dangerous tone compelled him to. He was a soldier, and a soldier could always recognize danger instinctively. He knew that, if he moved, there would be danger.
Dorothy smirked slightly, then continued. Fingers trailed along his torso, skin calloused by swordplay danced across his skin, tracing invisible patterns that not even he could see. Another hand pushed the metal wand even deeper inside him, until it came to the stop, the ring encircling it tight across his length.
He barely breathed, clenching his fists in a futile attempt to regain control over his own body. Harsh pants escaped him and were ignored. He didn’t move even as the pain intensified, biting down on the gag to take his mind from the pain.
It slowly abated, leaving him sweat-soaked and panting, staring at his captor from under blond bangs. She smiled almost predatorily at him, bending down, hair falling to cover her face as she slowly, sensually, licked his erection from base to the tip.
His whole body jerked, arching up to the teasing touch. A strangled scream escaped him, and he shivered He slumped back on the bed, panting as his spots appeared in his vision as he fought to breathe. It seemed rather ridiculous that he would have such a reaction to something so brief, but not even a Gundam pilot could fully control his body.
Dorothy smiled, then, when she was sure that he was calm again, she consciously relaxed her throat muscles. In one fell swoop, she took his whole length into her mouth, and swallowed, throat muscles clenching around the organ.
Quatre’s eyes flew open, and he gasped, almost biting through the gag in an attempt to stop from shouting incoherently. The hot wetness of Dorothy’s mouth sent shivers throughout his whole body, and sensations almost overwhelmed him. Pleasure and lust shot through him like a bullet from a gun, and he bucked his hips, thrusting unconsciously into the warm cavern.
She swallowed repeatedly, smirking mentally as he jerked and thrashed on the bed. With a hand, she ran a silk-covered finger down his heavy balls, stroking and teasing them as they drew up, almost ready to release their seed. She pushed them down, denying release as much as the wand did. Another hand reached up, teasing the fine blond curls at the base of his cock, tracing a path up until she touched his neglected nipples, pinching at the oversensitive nubs.
He screamed, tossing his head back and forth as he pulled against the handcuffs. The teasing touches were too much, and there was no way that he could reach completion. His body was as tense as a drawn bowstring, ready to release. His eyes looked down towards Dorothy, imploring, begging, her to allow him release. She was right; he thought as his mind was infused in a haze of pleasure and pain, pleasure could be a torture. It is a torture.
Dorothy caught his gaze, reading the plea easily. She smiled, drawing off him with one, final lick. She ignored the soft, protesting whimper. Climbing up towards him, she made sure that her hair and her clothes brushed past his skin in the briefest of touches. It would be absolutely torture, she knew. She bent down towards his ear once more; hand on the clasp that kept the ball gag in his mouth.
“Beg, Mister Quatre, beg me for release, beg me to deliver to you the punishment and forgiveness you so wanted. Beg me to end this torture, Mister Quatre. Beg.”
She undid the clasp, pulling it off his mouth. Tilting her head slightly, she waited expectantly for his answer. Her fingers danced their way down his torso, teasing him. He narrowed his eyes, whispering a soft ‘please’. She shook her head, pretending not to hear.
“What is it, Mister Quatre? You should speak louder, you know. I can’t hear you…”
He glared at her, pants echoing in the silent room. His face was flushed, his wrists reddened from the strain of constant pulling. He took a deep breath, then spoke, voice low,
“Please.”
She shook her head once more, signalling that she still could not hear him. Quatre glared at her, hands clenching into fists as he took another breath. This time, he shouted, eyes almost glowing in frustration and interrupted pleasure,
“Please, Dorothy, please stop torturing me. Please!”
She smiled, pleased. Standing up, she placed a hand at both nipple clamps. Her eyes never leaving his, she whispered, “All you have to do is ask, Mister Quatre.”
She released the nipple clamps, and Quatre shouted as pain shot through him as blood returned to the neglected nubs. A hand brushed against them, and he had to bite his lip to prevent himself from screaming. Another hand on his erection, on the very tip as the Prince’s wand was removed from him. Before he realized the sensation of being released, a warm mouth covered the tip, suckling once. The combination of pain and pleasure was too much, and he came.
He threw his head back, hitting the headboard but he didn’t care. Hands clenched into fists and eyes closed as he screamed unintelligibly, all control gone. His arms strained against the handcuffs, muscles straining in vain. The orgasm was more intense than anything else that he had ever felt, and it seemed to go on forever.
Dorothy smirked as she swallowed the white-hot seed spilled from him. It was a magnificent sight. Quatre Winner in the throes of passion, all control gone, unneeded in the situation. When the shudders finally stopped, she withdrew, licking her lips as she looked at the man still chained to the bed.
Quatre panted, trying to catch his breath in the afterglow of orgasm. He briefly felt a hand behind him and a soft ‘click’ sounded in the room. He blinked. Dorothy had removed the handcuffs, leaving him freed. Turning, he saw the blonde lean down to him again, and he tensed, expecting a blow or an insult. He was wrong.
“I hope that you’ll forgive yourself after this, Mister Winner. Your punishment is over, you can stop blaming yourself.”
Tossing back a familiar smirk, Dorothy walked towards the door, carrying all of the toys. She left Quatre behind stunned, gaping after her.
Owari