Return of the Ruler
I got more of a positive response to the last one than I had expected, so I spent today writing a sequel. It's trash, but hopefully entertaining trash.
Title: Return of the Ruler
Author: nine_ten_11th
Disclaimer: I have no official affiliation with the Whoniverse. And the wages of sin are death, so I’m not writing this for a profit.
Rating: R
Warnings: Spanking and silliness, again.
Notes: Sequel to “We’ve Had This Argument Before” (though it also works as a stand-alone). The Doctor has promised himself he will make the Master cry. In the words of the immortal Barbara Stanwyck, “It’s very important to keep promises, especially to yourself.”
Oh, that was it. That was bloody well it. An offense had been committed. A line had been crossed. The Master had smashed the Doctor’s favorite teacup.
And that wasn’t even the worst of it! The Master had broken the cup by throwing it at the Doctor’s head. The Doctor could accept arguing. Even when the Master’s views were clearly ridiculous (which was distressingly often. Seriously, who liked Voyager more than Next Gen?). However, the Master responding to an argument with violence was completely unreasonable, which was why the Doctor was going to have to spank him again.
Well, it had been three days. The Master was rarely capable of being good for longer than that.
At this moment, the two were staring at each other across the kitchen table. The Doctor daubed some of the tea off of his suit front. The Master was breathing hard, probably a combination of adrenaline from the fight and fear of the inevitable consequences.
The Doctor sighed. “Right. Where’s the ruler?”
“I, ah, don’t know,” the Master said, looking shifty.
“Well, no point searching, then,” the Doctor said. “I’ll just have to use your belt.”
“Oh, wait!” the Master said, slightly panicked. “I remember! It’s in the control room.”
“Well, you’d best go get it, then,” the Doctor said, pointedly.
The Master pouted gorgeously, then skittered off to the control room. The Doctor sighed again. Lying that blatantly, really. The Doctor pulled his chair away from the kitchen table and sat on it, waiting for the Master’s return. And return he did, a moment later, holding the ruler awkwardly.
“Give that to me,” the Doctor said.
“I’m sorry, Doctor,” the Master said, contritely, as he handed the ruler over.
“Sorry for what?”
“Sorry I. . . you know. . . threw the teacup at you.”
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to replace Etruscan pottery? I’ve already been there twice, I could destabilize the space-time continuum trying to get a new one.”
“Really, I am sorry. . .” It was an awkward statement at this point.
“Bit late for that. Okay.” The Doctor was ready. “Now. I’m going to give you a spanking, so let’s get ready.”
The Master knew the routine. He unbuckled his belt and stood by the chair, allowing the Doctor to pull him across his lap and take his trousers down. The Doctor looked down at the Master’s bared bottom, wanting to heighten the tension by making the Master wait. There was also admiration in his gaze, though. The Master’s lithe body was truly beautiful, and the Doctor liked observing him like this. Still, that bottom would be even more beautiful a bit redder, the Doctor thought, and he gave the Master the first whack.
“Owww,” the Master groaned. “You don’t believe in warmups, do you.”
The Master was correct in this. After all, the Doctor had promised himself that this would be the time he would finally make the Master cry. And in the words of the immortal Barbara Stanwyck, “It’s very important to keep promises, especially to yourself.”
So the Doctor spanked roughly, and after about fifteen strokes, the Master’s pale flesh had turned a rosy pink. True to form, that was when the Master began to babble.
“I must look so ridiculous like this,” he said, in a voice that was half choked pain and half nervous giggle. “And it is ridiculous, honestly, I’m a grown man, I’m more than a grown man, I’m a fucking Timelord, and you still put me over your knee like this, it’s insane, and I know insane, I’m all about insane. . .”
The Doctor rolled his eyes. Nonsense, that’s what this was, and he was tired of it. He hit harder with the ruler, striking with all his might. The smacking sound was much louder now, as were the Master’s pained gasps.
“How long are we going for, Doctor?”
“Until I think you’ve had enough,” the Doctor said, harshly.
“God, we could be here all day,” the Master groaned. “Because you’re a fucking sadist, Doctor, and I know sadism too, I might even know it better than insanity. . .”
The Master was panting hard now, and the Doctor was pleased to note that he was kicking even more than usual. He truly loved the sensation of the Master wriggling and bouncing around. The Doctor was well past his typical fifty strokes, but he had no intention of stopping yet. He couldn’t hit any harder, but he could go faster, and did. The Master’s bottom was now a bright, vivid red, and the Doctor noticed a few spots that would soon turn into blisters.
The Master kept talking, but his voice was now almost a scream. “It’s so fucking petty, Doctor, humiliating me like this, I mean, I know you love your artifacts, but it was just a fucking teacup and. . . and. . . I USED TO RULE THE WORLD, GODDAMMIT!” And the Master burst into tears.
The Doctor couldn’t have been more pleased. But he wasn’t going to stop now. For full effect, he would have to make the Master suffer for a while. This was satisfying, and he really had liked that teacup. He kept up the pace and intensity of the spanking, watching the Master’s bottom turn a blotchier red, listening to him wail. . . the Master stopped kicking, and lay limply across the Doctor’s lap, sobbing in acceptance of his punishment. And clearly the Doctor was a sadist, because he kept going. After another twenty strokes, the Doctor finally set the ruler down. His shoulder ached, but the Doctor was confident that the Master’s bottom would be aching much more.
The Master was still lying across his lap in noisy tears, and the Doctor decided to let him cry it out a bit. Feeling a touch of remorse, he asked, “Are you all right?”
The Master was still weeping, but managed to choke out, “I hate you. I fucking hate you.”
The Doctor sighed. “All right. All right. Stand up.” As the Master stiffly rose to his feet, the Doctor grabbed him and sat him on his lap. As the Master buried his face in the Doctor’s shoulder, the Doctor put his arms around the Master’s waist and held him.
“Shh, shh, it’s all right,” the Doctor reassured him. “It’s over now.”
“That really hurt,” the Master murmured, sniffling.
The Doctor sighed. It probably had been a bit excessive. A bit. The Master was still crying. . . and exposed. . . and beautiful. . . the Doctor’s feeling of guilt turned into desire. But no. He couldn’t take advantage of the Master in his vulnerable state. He couldn’t. Well, maybe he could. But he wouldn’t. Well. . .
The Doctor slowly moved his hands from the Master’s waist to caress his thighs and groin.
“Would you like me to make it better?”
Title: Return of the Ruler
Author: nine_ten_11th
Disclaimer: I have no official affiliation with the Whoniverse. And the wages of sin are death, so I’m not writing this for a profit.
Rating: R
Warnings: Spanking and silliness, again.
Notes: Sequel to “We’ve Had This Argument Before” (though it also works as a stand-alone). The Doctor has promised himself he will make the Master cry. In the words of the immortal Barbara Stanwyck, “It’s very important to keep promises, especially to yourself.”
Oh, that was it. That was bloody well it. An offense had been committed. A line had been crossed. The Master had smashed the Doctor’s favorite teacup.
And that wasn’t even the worst of it! The Master had broken the cup by throwing it at the Doctor’s head. The Doctor could accept arguing. Even when the Master’s views were clearly ridiculous (which was distressingly often. Seriously, who liked Voyager more than Next Gen?). However, the Master responding to an argument with violence was completely unreasonable, which was why the Doctor was going to have to spank him again.
Well, it had been three days. The Master was rarely capable of being good for longer than that.
At this moment, the two were staring at each other across the kitchen table. The Doctor daubed some of the tea off of his suit front. The Master was breathing hard, probably a combination of adrenaline from the fight and fear of the inevitable consequences.
The Doctor sighed. “Right. Where’s the ruler?”
“I, ah, don’t know,” the Master said, looking shifty.
“Well, no point searching, then,” the Doctor said. “I’ll just have to use your belt.”
“Oh, wait!” the Master said, slightly panicked. “I remember! It’s in the control room.”
“Well, you’d best go get it, then,” the Doctor said, pointedly.
The Master pouted gorgeously, then skittered off to the control room. The Doctor sighed again. Lying that blatantly, really. The Doctor pulled his chair away from the kitchen table and sat on it, waiting for the Master’s return. And return he did, a moment later, holding the ruler awkwardly.
“Give that to me,” the Doctor said.
“I’m sorry, Doctor,” the Master said, contritely, as he handed the ruler over.
“Sorry for what?”
“Sorry I. . . you know. . . threw the teacup at you.”
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to replace Etruscan pottery? I’ve already been there twice, I could destabilize the space-time continuum trying to get a new one.”
“Really, I am sorry. . .” It was an awkward statement at this point.
“Bit late for that. Okay.” The Doctor was ready. “Now. I’m going to give you a spanking, so let’s get ready.”
The Master knew the routine. He unbuckled his belt and stood by the chair, allowing the Doctor to pull him across his lap and take his trousers down. The Doctor looked down at the Master’s bared bottom, wanting to heighten the tension by making the Master wait. There was also admiration in his gaze, though. The Master’s lithe body was truly beautiful, and the Doctor liked observing him like this. Still, that bottom would be even more beautiful a bit redder, the Doctor thought, and he gave the Master the first whack.
“Owww,” the Master groaned. “You don’t believe in warmups, do you.”
The Master was correct in this. After all, the Doctor had promised himself that this would be the time he would finally make the Master cry. And in the words of the immortal Barbara Stanwyck, “It’s very important to keep promises, especially to yourself.”
So the Doctor spanked roughly, and after about fifteen strokes, the Master’s pale flesh had turned a rosy pink. True to form, that was when the Master began to babble.
“I must look so ridiculous like this,” he said, in a voice that was half choked pain and half nervous giggle. “And it is ridiculous, honestly, I’m a grown man, I’m more than a grown man, I’m a fucking Timelord, and you still put me over your knee like this, it’s insane, and I know insane, I’m all about insane. . .”
The Doctor rolled his eyes. Nonsense, that’s what this was, and he was tired of it. He hit harder with the ruler, striking with all his might. The smacking sound was much louder now, as were the Master’s pained gasps.
“How long are we going for, Doctor?”
“Until I think you’ve had enough,” the Doctor said, harshly.
“God, we could be here all day,” the Master groaned. “Because you’re a fucking sadist, Doctor, and I know sadism too, I might even know it better than insanity. . .”
The Master was panting hard now, and the Doctor was pleased to note that he was kicking even more than usual. He truly loved the sensation of the Master wriggling and bouncing around. The Doctor was well past his typical fifty strokes, but he had no intention of stopping yet. He couldn’t hit any harder, but he could go faster, and did. The Master’s bottom was now a bright, vivid red, and the Doctor noticed a few spots that would soon turn into blisters.
The Master kept talking, but his voice was now almost a scream. “It’s so fucking petty, Doctor, humiliating me like this, I mean, I know you love your artifacts, but it was just a fucking teacup and. . . and. . . I USED TO RULE THE WORLD, GODDAMMIT!” And the Master burst into tears.
The Doctor couldn’t have been more pleased. But he wasn’t going to stop now. For full effect, he would have to make the Master suffer for a while. This was satisfying, and he really had liked that teacup. He kept up the pace and intensity of the spanking, watching the Master’s bottom turn a blotchier red, listening to him wail. . . the Master stopped kicking, and lay limply across the Doctor’s lap, sobbing in acceptance of his punishment. And clearly the Doctor was a sadist, because he kept going. After another twenty strokes, the Doctor finally set the ruler down. His shoulder ached, but the Doctor was confident that the Master’s bottom would be aching much more.
The Master was still lying across his lap in noisy tears, and the Doctor decided to let him cry it out a bit. Feeling a touch of remorse, he asked, “Are you all right?”
The Master was still weeping, but managed to choke out, “I hate you. I fucking hate you.”
The Doctor sighed. “All right. All right. Stand up.” As the Master stiffly rose to his feet, the Doctor grabbed him and sat him on his lap. As the Master buried his face in the Doctor’s shoulder, the Doctor put his arms around the Master’s waist and held him.
“Shh, shh, it’s all right,” the Doctor reassured him. “It’s over now.”
“That really hurt,” the Master murmured, sniffling.
The Doctor sighed. It probably had been a bit excessive. A bit. The Master was still crying. . . and exposed. . . and beautiful. . . the Doctor’s feeling of guilt turned into desire. But no. He couldn’t take advantage of the Master in his vulnerable state. He couldn’t. Well, maybe he could. But he wouldn’t. Well. . .
The Doctor slowly moved his hands from the Master’s waist to caress his thighs and groin.
“Would you like me to make it better?”