THE SQUICKERY. PORN NC17 Do not read.
Fandom: True Blood
Rating: NC17 for Nasty
Genre and/or Pairing: Eric and Godric
Word count: 1700
Okay, so -- this is the part I took out of Godric's Birthday, whereupon I got a couple of comments and PMs from folks who wanted it back! I think it works better as a separate story. This was part of a Daddy! fic. So when Godric says his father, he's talking about Eric. Yeah, I know! You're dying to read it now! It's an enema fic, written by request. It's tender and ritualized rather than graphic, but consider yourself warned, this story freaked more people out than anything else but my rape fic.
Godric sat quietly on the end of the bed in their hotel room, waiting. To his astonished delight, the photographer had actually agreed to the sitting; they were to call his assistant tomorrow to schedule an appointment to return. Now all that remained was … the rest of the evening, which had been there in the back of Godric's mind since he first woke up.
Eric had already stripped the bed of its covers, folded on the desk in the corner; now he was in the bathroom. Godric could hear the water running. He turned on the television and flipped it to the channel that carried the cartoons. He loved cartoons, and he was glad his father indulged him like this on their trips together.
Eric emerged from the bathroom.
Godric stood and unbuttoned his pants, sliding them down below his hips. Then he looked at Eric questioningly.
"Yes, leave your clothes on." Those words were all it took; Godric felt his knees weaken. He stood still rather than walking over to Eric, his eyes directed downward now.
"Do you want to watch the cartoons?" Eric asked gently.
Godric nodded, then lay down on his left side, a large, fluffy pillow bunched under his head, his eyes never leaving the television. The cat and the mouse were chasing each other. His knees were bent, his belt and pants bunched uncomfortably below his thighs, heightening the feeling that what he was doing was shameful.
Eric returned, shifting him slightly and sliding a small, waterproof sheet and a towel underneath him. Then a brief touch of Eric's hand, and then the feel of the nozzle, and the click of the valve, and the sudden release of warm water. Each time was like the first time. Godric shut his eyes for a moment. When he looked again, the cat was trying to catch the mouse in a net. Eric's free hand rubbed his stomach.
Godric smiled at the television.
"Look, the mouse is waiting for him. He's very smart."
His hand tightened on the pillow; he was cramping. Eric was taking his time, filling him slowly, stopping the water and waiting, then starting again so that he could take it all.
"We're through." The nozzle was slipped out; sometimes it was replaced with something else, but not tonight. Tonight, he had to hold it on his own.
"I'll be right back."
Eric got up and went into the bathroom. The water was running again for a few minutes, splashing in the sink. And then Eric returned, drying his hands on a towel, looking down at Godric thoughtfully.
"Your pants are going to wrinkle."
"I'm sorry," Godric said automatically, his eyes still on the screen.
"You should have taken them off. They're nice pants."
"I forgot."
Eric's hand came down, sliding Godric's belt slowly out from his pants underneath him.
"You shouldn't be so careless." Eric's quiet voice, his father voice. Tender and dangerous. The sound of it made Godric look at him. After a minute he began to turn himself slowly and awkwardly onto his stomach at his father's unspoken command, trying to move as little as possible.
"Here, let me help you with the pillows. Kneel up … okay, like that. That's fine." Eric tucked his sweater up and out of the way.
The crack of the belt, hard across his lower back, his hips, his pale, muscular bottom. The pain was even worse, because he had to hold the water in. He simply had to hold it in. He turned his head and looked at Eric, overcome.
"I love you so much."
"How much longer?" He was on his side again; Eric had permitted him that after the beating, because he was kind.
Eric glanced at the clock below the television.
"Five more minutes. Are you all right?"
Godric nodded. Eric was behind him, his arm across Godric's chest. He moved his hand up and stroked Godric's face tenderly with his fingertips. Godric caught his hand, put Eric's thumb in his mouth and slowly sucked on it, his eyes still on the television, counting the seconds.
"Godric, come with me. It's all right, I'll help you up. Slowly. Let go of the sheet."
He lay on his back on the waterproof pad again, another towel under him, his skin slightly damp. He was clean and warm and empty after his bath; so clean. His insides still ached a little. He was weak now, and drowsy; he wanted to sleep, now that all the discomfort was gone. Well, most of it; his cock was still twitching, although he knew nothing would be done about that tonight. He'd raised his knees several times in silent supplication, but they'd been pushed back down, the last time less gently and with a stern look that let him know not to do it again.
Eric applied the thick, soothing cream to his freshly shaved skin, working quickly and efficiently, not wanting to overstimulate him. A finger slid into him and he gasped and then relaxed, felt the cream being worked carefully inside him, and then more, and then more still … he opened to it, groaning a little, but then it stopped. And then the sweet-smelling powder fell lightly onto his skin, in front and behind, and then the towel was replaced with a clean one. And then came the cloths - the heavier flannel cloth folded lengthwise several times underneath him, and then the thinner flannel cloth that wrapped around him and between his legs, holding everything in place before it was securely pinned around his waist, his father arranging him so that the tight bindings would not chafe too much. Then the warm, constricting feel of the old-fashioned underpants, wool on the outside and waterproof on the inside, that always felt much too small. And finally, over that, the beautiful starched and embroidered muslin underpants with the satin ribbon drawstring, tied carefully at his waist.
Eric kissed him when he was finished. "You are my sweet, beautiful boy. You are my own darling. I am so proud of you."
Godric opened the next part of the birthday gift, sliding the top off the box and unfolding the tissue inside, although he already knew what it contained. He lifted out the cream-colored dressing gown that matched the pants. It was linen, so fine and delicately made that his tattoos were easily visible through the material. It too was elaborately and expensively stitched with heavy embroidery up and down the bodice and the long sleeves, and it was stiff with starch. In appearance it was somewhere between an old-fashioned child's christening dress and a bridal gown, and it fell almost to his ankles. It was also itchy and uncomfortable, the stiffness of the fabric and the many small knots of embroidery thread never resting easily against his skin. He raised his arms so that his father could slide it over his head, and then waited patiently as it was securely buttoned up the front.
And now, prepared and ready for bed, Godric was allowed to have his last birthday treat. His hands were trembling as he undid Eric's belt and unzipped his pants, settling on his knees, taking Eric's hard cock into his mouth with a grateful sigh. He slid the pants down further and mouthed Eric's balls, groaning, even more aroused, his hands holding onto Eric's thighs for support. As he knelt there he could feel his stomach twist briefly and uncomfortably. Some time in the middle of the day tomorrow, on his sixteenth birthday (as every year was his sixteenth birthday), he would wake up, needing to visit the bathroom again. But he was not permitted to disturb his father's sleep, nor was he allowed to leave the bed, and anyway he couldn't undo and refasten his pants himself. And so he would turn carefully from side to side for an hour, miserably trying to prevent the inevitable, as his father slept beside him. And sooner or later would come that mortifying moment when the small amount of what remained in him would come out, and soak into the flannel cloth between his legs while he lay there in his shame. And then the look on his father's face when he removed the pants and saw what his son had done … in his own clothing…
Godric twisted desperately against Eric's legs, groaning, full of love and desire. He took Eric deeper into his mouth, as deeply as he could, Eric thrusting roughly now down his throat, hurting him with his lust, but it didn't matter, he didn't need to breathe. He wanted nothing more than to please, to be the best possible boy he could, knowing already in his heart that he would disappoint tomorrow, prepared for that, but wanting so much now to be good.
"Open - open, that's it-" Eric gasped. "That's it, let me in-" and then he was coming, filling Godric's throat and jamming back and forth into his mouth so that he gagged a little.
"Now swallow it… nicely … that's it, yes. Now clean me off with your tongue." Which Godric did, gratefully, proudly. And then he removed all of Eric's clothes and hung them up or put them away carefully where they belonged, as he'd been taught to do, Eric watching him move in the itchy gown, making sure he didn't try to ease himself by scratching or rearranging it. His skin crawled. He remade the bed.
"Good boy. Now, come here." And now they were tucked in together under the duvet, Eric curled against him.
"Do you want to watch some more cartoons? You must be very tired."
Godric shook his head, his eyes half closed.
"Would you please read to me a little, father? Since it's almost my birthday?"
"Of course." And Eric kissed him on the forehead and settled Godric against himself and took up the book on the nightstand and read aloud in a soft voice for a few minutes, until he could see that Godric was sound asleep.
Rating: NC17 for Nasty
Genre and/or Pairing: Eric and Godric
Word count: 1700
Okay, so -- this is the part I took out of Godric's Birthday, whereupon I got a couple of comments and PMs from folks who wanted it back! I think it works better as a separate story. This was part of a Daddy! fic. So when Godric says his father, he's talking about Eric. Yeah, I know! You're dying to read it now! It's an enema fic, written by request. It's tender and ritualized rather than graphic, but consider yourself warned, this story freaked more people out than anything else but my rape fic.
Godric sat quietly on the end of the bed in their hotel room, waiting. To his astonished delight, the photographer had actually agreed to the sitting; they were to call his assistant tomorrow to schedule an appointment to return. Now all that remained was … the rest of the evening, which had been there in the back of Godric's mind since he first woke up.
Eric had already stripped the bed of its covers, folded on the desk in the corner; now he was in the bathroom. Godric could hear the water running. He turned on the television and flipped it to the channel that carried the cartoons. He loved cartoons, and he was glad his father indulged him like this on their trips together.
Eric emerged from the bathroom.
Godric stood and unbuttoned his pants, sliding them down below his hips. Then he looked at Eric questioningly.
"Yes, leave your clothes on." Those words were all it took; Godric felt his knees weaken. He stood still rather than walking over to Eric, his eyes directed downward now.
"Do you want to watch the cartoons?" Eric asked gently.
Godric nodded, then lay down on his left side, a large, fluffy pillow bunched under his head, his eyes never leaving the television. The cat and the mouse were chasing each other. His knees were bent, his belt and pants bunched uncomfortably below his thighs, heightening the feeling that what he was doing was shameful.
Eric returned, shifting him slightly and sliding a small, waterproof sheet and a towel underneath him. Then a brief touch of Eric's hand, and then the feel of the nozzle, and the click of the valve, and the sudden release of warm water. Each time was like the first time. Godric shut his eyes for a moment. When he looked again, the cat was trying to catch the mouse in a net. Eric's free hand rubbed his stomach.
Godric smiled at the television.
"Look, the mouse is waiting for him. He's very smart."
His hand tightened on the pillow; he was cramping. Eric was taking his time, filling him slowly, stopping the water and waiting, then starting again so that he could take it all.
"We're through." The nozzle was slipped out; sometimes it was replaced with something else, but not tonight. Tonight, he had to hold it on his own.
"I'll be right back."
Eric got up and went into the bathroom. The water was running again for a few minutes, splashing in the sink. And then Eric returned, drying his hands on a towel, looking down at Godric thoughtfully.
"Your pants are going to wrinkle."
"I'm sorry," Godric said automatically, his eyes still on the screen.
"You should have taken them off. They're nice pants."
"I forgot."
Eric's hand came down, sliding Godric's belt slowly out from his pants underneath him.
"You shouldn't be so careless." Eric's quiet voice, his father voice. Tender and dangerous. The sound of it made Godric look at him. After a minute he began to turn himself slowly and awkwardly onto his stomach at his father's unspoken command, trying to move as little as possible.
"Here, let me help you with the pillows. Kneel up … okay, like that. That's fine." Eric tucked his sweater up and out of the way.
The crack of the belt, hard across his lower back, his hips, his pale, muscular bottom. The pain was even worse, because he had to hold the water in. He simply had to hold it in. He turned his head and looked at Eric, overcome.
"I love you so much."
"How much longer?" He was on his side again; Eric had permitted him that after the beating, because he was kind.
Eric glanced at the clock below the television.
"Five more minutes. Are you all right?"
Godric nodded. Eric was behind him, his arm across Godric's chest. He moved his hand up and stroked Godric's face tenderly with his fingertips. Godric caught his hand, put Eric's thumb in his mouth and slowly sucked on it, his eyes still on the television, counting the seconds.
"Godric, come with me. It's all right, I'll help you up. Slowly. Let go of the sheet."
He lay on his back on the waterproof pad again, another towel under him, his skin slightly damp. He was clean and warm and empty after his bath; so clean. His insides still ached a little. He was weak now, and drowsy; he wanted to sleep, now that all the discomfort was gone. Well, most of it; his cock was still twitching, although he knew nothing would be done about that tonight. He'd raised his knees several times in silent supplication, but they'd been pushed back down, the last time less gently and with a stern look that let him know not to do it again.
Eric applied the thick, soothing cream to his freshly shaved skin, working quickly and efficiently, not wanting to overstimulate him. A finger slid into him and he gasped and then relaxed, felt the cream being worked carefully inside him, and then more, and then more still … he opened to it, groaning a little, but then it stopped. And then the sweet-smelling powder fell lightly onto his skin, in front and behind, and then the towel was replaced with a clean one. And then came the cloths - the heavier flannel cloth folded lengthwise several times underneath him, and then the thinner flannel cloth that wrapped around him and between his legs, holding everything in place before it was securely pinned around his waist, his father arranging him so that the tight bindings would not chafe too much. Then the warm, constricting feel of the old-fashioned underpants, wool on the outside and waterproof on the inside, that always felt much too small. And finally, over that, the beautiful starched and embroidered muslin underpants with the satin ribbon drawstring, tied carefully at his waist.
Eric kissed him when he was finished. "You are my sweet, beautiful boy. You are my own darling. I am so proud of you."
Godric opened the next part of the birthday gift, sliding the top off the box and unfolding the tissue inside, although he already knew what it contained. He lifted out the cream-colored dressing gown that matched the pants. It was linen, so fine and delicately made that his tattoos were easily visible through the material. It too was elaborately and expensively stitched with heavy embroidery up and down the bodice and the long sleeves, and it was stiff with starch. In appearance it was somewhere between an old-fashioned child's christening dress and a bridal gown, and it fell almost to his ankles. It was also itchy and uncomfortable, the stiffness of the fabric and the many small knots of embroidery thread never resting easily against his skin. He raised his arms so that his father could slide it over his head, and then waited patiently as it was securely buttoned up the front.
And now, prepared and ready for bed, Godric was allowed to have his last birthday treat. His hands were trembling as he undid Eric's belt and unzipped his pants, settling on his knees, taking Eric's hard cock into his mouth with a grateful sigh. He slid the pants down further and mouthed Eric's balls, groaning, even more aroused, his hands holding onto Eric's thighs for support. As he knelt there he could feel his stomach twist briefly and uncomfortably. Some time in the middle of the day tomorrow, on his sixteenth birthday (as every year was his sixteenth birthday), he would wake up, needing to visit the bathroom again. But he was not permitted to disturb his father's sleep, nor was he allowed to leave the bed, and anyway he couldn't undo and refasten his pants himself. And so he would turn carefully from side to side for an hour, miserably trying to prevent the inevitable, as his father slept beside him. And sooner or later would come that mortifying moment when the small amount of what remained in him would come out, and soak into the flannel cloth between his legs while he lay there in his shame. And then the look on his father's face when he removed the pants and saw what his son had done … in his own clothing…
Godric twisted desperately against Eric's legs, groaning, full of love and desire. He took Eric deeper into his mouth, as deeply as he could, Eric thrusting roughly now down his throat, hurting him with his lust, but it didn't matter, he didn't need to breathe. He wanted nothing more than to please, to be the best possible boy he could, knowing already in his heart that he would disappoint tomorrow, prepared for that, but wanting so much now to be good.
"Open - open, that's it-" Eric gasped. "That's it, let me in-" and then he was coming, filling Godric's throat and jamming back and forth into his mouth so that he gagged a little.
"Now swallow it… nicely … that's it, yes. Now clean me off with your tongue." Which Godric did, gratefully, proudly. And then he removed all of Eric's clothes and hung them up or put them away carefully where they belonged, as he'd been taught to do, Eric watching him move in the itchy gown, making sure he didn't try to ease himself by scratching or rearranging it. His skin crawled. He remade the bed.
"Good boy. Now, come here." And now they were tucked in together under the duvet, Eric curled against him.
"Do you want to watch some more cartoons? You must be very tired."
Godric shook his head, his eyes half closed.
"Would you please read to me a little, father? Since it's almost my birthday?"
"Of course." And Eric kissed him on the forehead and settled Godric against himself and took up the book on the nightstand and read aloud in a soft voice for a few minutes, until he could see that Godric was sound asleep.