Pic & Fic: Darts of Pleasure, Tenth Doctor/Master, NC-17, NSFW, crossposted up to its timebollocks
Oh yes. We have progressed to NC-17 and so many little darts of pleasure the Master's timecock is weeping with joy... so yeah, definitely not worksafe. Timebumming and timewanking, ladies and gentlemen. Open up and say ahh.
Um. Happyslut!Ten, it seems. I swear I don't set out to make the Master bottom this often deliberately, it's just the way the bodyshots seem to go surprisingly often.
*glares at certain members of the flist for pimping songs that are far too catchy*
Oh yeah! And commentporn happened in one of the crossposts for the bondage pic, but it was a locked post, so I'm reposting it here to spread the filth. Unpolished, quick and dirty, but hey, Ten/Master BDSM... thanks to the people who prodded me into writing it out:). But, yeah. Not for the above pic but for the bondage one, yess.
justwolf:
Mm. Arse. And also mm bondage. Nice wrist cuffs. I love the Master's expression as he looks in and appreciates.
snowgrouse:
I bet he has screens all over the room and that one is just for show--and so Ten can see his face while he positions himself on the bed. His next job is to find lube in the bedside drawer. And then prepare himself. Slowly. Spread his legs wide open so the Master can see. Yes, lovely long white fingers he has in this incarnation--don't hesitate, Doctor. Push them all the way in. After all, the Master is going to go so, so deep. He isn't going to stop before he's in to his balls, oh, Doctor, make yourself ready and open wide for your Master...
justwolf:
Yesss. I love that you write porn about these. Now I can't stop picturing him pushing his fingers in, two fingers, three, four, with the Master encouraging him, saying this will be nothing, nothing compared to how he is going to stretch him.
snowgrouse:
UNGH. ILU.
Oh yes. The Doctor's fingers are so woefully slim. "And now, Doctor, lay down on your back and spread your legs, as far as the chains will allow you... show yourself to me. Show me how open you've made yourself. Pull yourself open."
And the Doctor moans in discomfort, in shame, throws his head back on the pillows.
And when he opens his eyes, the Master is in the room. Fully clothed in his usual black suit, only his cock and balls out. He kneels at the foot of the bed, wanking lube onto his cock, red and glistening and swelling up in his hand.
"That's a very pretty picture, Doctor. I'm impressed. Aren't you glad this is a prime time satellite broadcast?"
And the Doctor is still moaning in shame when the Master enters him, and even with the lube, the swiftness of it hurts, his size hurts so fucking much, and it hurts so fucking *good*. And he curses himself, he curses his cock for jumping as the Master starts thrusting, curses the trail of precome on his belly, curses the Master's triumphant laughter.
Mm. The Doctor's chains rattling, wrists linked to ankles, and the Master pushing his legs up for easier access, bending him double so the angle will be so tight, so deep, the chains going clink-clink-clink-clink to the rhythm of the fucking, to the drums. Beautiful.
And then doctorinchains begged *so* prettily:
Okay, now you've done it - I've completely lost my focus for the work I'm supposed to be doing...... :gets on hands and knees and begs, shamelessly: PLEASE write the fic that goes with this - the one you've started here! Oh please? In all its naughty glory? *pant*
snowgrouse:
DAMN. I might need someone to toss ideas back and forth with.
But, yeah. Chains. Clinking.
And the Master grabs them, silencing them.
Pulls all the way out, cocktip resting on the Doctor's dilated, wet arsehole.
Staying absolutely still.
Looks the Doctor in the eyes.
Waits patiently until a choking sob breaks from the Doctor's chest.
And yet, he waits. Even if that sound makes precome spurt out of his cock. Waits for the Doctor to use his name.
"...Please... Master."
And when he rams in violently, so hard he's hurting himself, the Doctor's scream makes it all worthwhile.
***
I'll see if I can come up with any more. It's getting tricky.
Oh. Damn. Ideas keep happening...
...the Master uses the pain to his advantage, sending a tendril of his thought inside the Doctor's mind, right there, where he is hurting, where he's open, that mind he never closes completely to others, the foolish little trusting bastard.
His eyes flutter shut, and his movements slow down, to the smallest, deepest thrusts, balls pressed tightly aginst the Doctor's buttocks.
And his hands tremble when he sees into the Doctor's mind.
He sees himself. The Doctor's mind is full of vast darkness, howling loneliness, a companion's face flickering and fading, another's, but in the midst of that there is one constant dark figure, something the Doctor can hang on to. Something he thought he'd lost, and that is the Master. In the flesh, the Doctor's nails are clawing at the Master's chest, his moans are continuous, irritated, he wants more--and that same hunger is tenfold when the Master experiences it through him, as him. A speeded-up montage of the Doctor's fantasies flashes before his eyes, different Doctors, different Masters, gentleness, violence, all of them sex and desperation, the Doctor clinging to him, even in those images where the Doctor is the one in control--and there, the Doctor slows the action down so the Master can see better.
Those images in which it is the Master on his back, his legs around the Doctor as he sucks him. Fucks him. Licks his own come off the Master's arse, tasting him thoroughly, possessiveness and submission entwined in the act.
The Master cries out in frustration, pulling on the chains painfully, stretching the Doctor's muscles to tearing point, fucking him *hard*--no, he is the fucking boss, he is the *Master*, and the Doctor better not forget that--and he focuses on the pride he feels in being in the very centre of the Doctor's mind, there's nowhere where he'd rather be--and the noises the Doctor makes, oh, a perfect mixture of real discomfort and real pleasure.
Slap, slap, slap, slap, the sound of his balls on the Doctor's arse, clink, clink, clink, clink, the chains, ta-tum, ta-tum, ta-tum, ta-tum their quadruple heartbeat, and it's the most perfect rhythm in the world, swirling to a crescendo, and the Master's toes curl in the sheets--oh--there, there--
--and the Doctor knows, feels the Master coming undone and shares it, shooting ribbons of come over his belly and chest without the Master even touching his cock once--just seconds before the Master, right there when the Master opens his eyes and stares at him, trembling on the edge, and the Doctor has to say it, he fucking means it and his voice is so, so broken, so lost, it's a plea, it's a prayer--
"Koschei."
The Master is made of screams and thrusts and hatred and come and fire and ecstasy and bitterness, unable to stop moving inside the Doctor, every limb shuddering, the drums thundering in his mind, anything to drown out that name, but he can't. He can't, so he screams louder, still thrusting, his come dripping out of the Doctor's arse, his face twisted in a grimace, and he slaps the Doctor. Chokes him. Anything to make him just *shut the fuck up*.
But the strain has been too much, he soon lets go and falls on top of the Doctor, the Doctor coughing as he draws in shaking breaths.
This is not how it should've gone. This is not the way he wanted it to happen *at all*.
He realises he's still fully clothed, almost absentminded as he pulls out and tucks his cock back into his trousers, zips up. He wipes his mouth with a sneer and gazes at the Doctor. Remembering, again, just how much he hates him, and why. The bastard is dangerous. Why the hell he keeps him alive he just doesn't... oh, he does know, but he doesn't want to think about it.
The Doctor's expression is disgusting. Pity, again. Forgiveness, again. And if that's a smug little smile hiding under it--oh, the sneaky little shit. There is a quick way to end that, and he doesn't hesitate. He grabs the Doctor where neck meets shoulder and presses, thumb finding the nerve, squeezing until the Doctor falls unconscious. So he can leave the room (running away, that's what he always does, coward, fucking coward, his mind screams at him), leave the Doctor behind. Maybe get as drunk as hell and make Lucy give him a blowjob. Wash the taste of the Doctor from his mouth with brandy and pussy. It has worked well so far.
And he goes on telling himself that.
Um. Happyslut!Ten, it seems. I swear I don't set out to make the Master bottom this often deliberately, it's just the way the bodyshots seem to go surprisingly often.
*glares at certain members of the flist for pimping songs that are far too catchy*
Oh yeah! And commentporn happened in one of the crossposts for the bondage pic, but it was a locked post, so I'm reposting it here to spread the filth. Unpolished, quick and dirty, but hey, Ten/Master BDSM... thanks to the people who prodded me into writing it out:). But, yeah. Not for the above pic but for the bondage one, yess.
justwolf:
Mm. Arse. And also mm bondage. Nice wrist cuffs. I love the Master's expression as he looks in and appreciates.
snowgrouse:
I bet he has screens all over the room and that one is just for show--and so Ten can see his face while he positions himself on the bed. His next job is to find lube in the bedside drawer. And then prepare himself. Slowly. Spread his legs wide open so the Master can see. Yes, lovely long white fingers he has in this incarnation--don't hesitate, Doctor. Push them all the way in. After all, the Master is going to go so, so deep. He isn't going to stop before he's in to his balls, oh, Doctor, make yourself ready and open wide for your Master...
justwolf:
Yesss. I love that you write porn about these. Now I can't stop picturing him pushing his fingers in, two fingers, three, four, with the Master encouraging him, saying this will be nothing, nothing compared to how he is going to stretch him.
snowgrouse:
UNGH. ILU.
Oh yes. The Doctor's fingers are so woefully slim. "And now, Doctor, lay down on your back and spread your legs, as far as the chains will allow you... show yourself to me. Show me how open you've made yourself. Pull yourself open."
And the Doctor moans in discomfort, in shame, throws his head back on the pillows.
And when he opens his eyes, the Master is in the room. Fully clothed in his usual black suit, only his cock and balls out. He kneels at the foot of the bed, wanking lube onto his cock, red and glistening and swelling up in his hand.
"That's a very pretty picture, Doctor. I'm impressed. Aren't you glad this is a prime time satellite broadcast?"
And the Doctor is still moaning in shame when the Master enters him, and even with the lube, the swiftness of it hurts, his size hurts so fucking much, and it hurts so fucking *good*. And he curses himself, he curses his cock for jumping as the Master starts thrusting, curses the trail of precome on his belly, curses the Master's triumphant laughter.
Mm. The Doctor's chains rattling, wrists linked to ankles, and the Master pushing his legs up for easier access, bending him double so the angle will be so tight, so deep, the chains going clink-clink-clink-clink to the rhythm of the fucking, to the drums. Beautiful.
And then doctorinchains begged *so* prettily:
Okay, now you've done it - I've completely lost my focus for the work I'm supposed to be doing...... :gets on hands and knees and begs, shamelessly: PLEASE write the fic that goes with this - the one you've started here! Oh please? In all its naughty glory? *pant*
snowgrouse:
DAMN. I might need someone to toss ideas back and forth with.
But, yeah. Chains. Clinking.
And the Master grabs them, silencing them.
Pulls all the way out, cocktip resting on the Doctor's dilated, wet arsehole.
Staying absolutely still.
Looks the Doctor in the eyes.
Waits patiently until a choking sob breaks from the Doctor's chest.
And yet, he waits. Even if that sound makes precome spurt out of his cock. Waits for the Doctor to use his name.
"...Please... Master."
And when he rams in violently, so hard he's hurting himself, the Doctor's scream makes it all worthwhile.
***
I'll see if I can come up with any more. It's getting tricky.
Oh. Damn. Ideas keep happening...
...the Master uses the pain to his advantage, sending a tendril of his thought inside the Doctor's mind, right there, where he is hurting, where he's open, that mind he never closes completely to others, the foolish little trusting bastard.
His eyes flutter shut, and his movements slow down, to the smallest, deepest thrusts, balls pressed tightly aginst the Doctor's buttocks.
And his hands tremble when he sees into the Doctor's mind.
He sees himself. The Doctor's mind is full of vast darkness, howling loneliness, a companion's face flickering and fading, another's, but in the midst of that there is one constant dark figure, something the Doctor can hang on to. Something he thought he'd lost, and that is the Master. In the flesh, the Doctor's nails are clawing at the Master's chest, his moans are continuous, irritated, he wants more--and that same hunger is tenfold when the Master experiences it through him, as him. A speeded-up montage of the Doctor's fantasies flashes before his eyes, different Doctors, different Masters, gentleness, violence, all of them sex and desperation, the Doctor clinging to him, even in those images where the Doctor is the one in control--and there, the Doctor slows the action down so the Master can see better.
Those images in which it is the Master on his back, his legs around the Doctor as he sucks him. Fucks him. Licks his own come off the Master's arse, tasting him thoroughly, possessiveness and submission entwined in the act.
The Master cries out in frustration, pulling on the chains painfully, stretching the Doctor's muscles to tearing point, fucking him *hard*--no, he is the fucking boss, he is the *Master*, and the Doctor better not forget that--and he focuses on the pride he feels in being in the very centre of the Doctor's mind, there's nowhere where he'd rather be--and the noises the Doctor makes, oh, a perfect mixture of real discomfort and real pleasure.
Slap, slap, slap, slap, the sound of his balls on the Doctor's arse, clink, clink, clink, clink, the chains, ta-tum, ta-tum, ta-tum, ta-tum their quadruple heartbeat, and it's the most perfect rhythm in the world, swirling to a crescendo, and the Master's toes curl in the sheets--oh--there, there--
--and the Doctor knows, feels the Master coming undone and shares it, shooting ribbons of come over his belly and chest without the Master even touching his cock once--just seconds before the Master, right there when the Master opens his eyes and stares at him, trembling on the edge, and the Doctor has to say it, he fucking means it and his voice is so, so broken, so lost, it's a plea, it's a prayer--
"Koschei."
The Master is made of screams and thrusts and hatred and come and fire and ecstasy and bitterness, unable to stop moving inside the Doctor, every limb shuddering, the drums thundering in his mind, anything to drown out that name, but he can't. He can't, so he screams louder, still thrusting, his come dripping out of the Doctor's arse, his face twisted in a grimace, and he slaps the Doctor. Chokes him. Anything to make him just *shut the fuck up*.
But the strain has been too much, he soon lets go and falls on top of the Doctor, the Doctor coughing as he draws in shaking breaths.
This is not how it should've gone. This is not the way he wanted it to happen *at all*.
He realises he's still fully clothed, almost absentminded as he pulls out and tucks his cock back into his trousers, zips up. He wipes his mouth with a sneer and gazes at the Doctor. Remembering, again, just how much he hates him, and why. The bastard is dangerous. Why the hell he keeps him alive he just doesn't... oh, he does know, but he doesn't want to think about it.
The Doctor's expression is disgusting. Pity, again. Forgiveness, again. And if that's a smug little smile hiding under it--oh, the sneaky little shit. There is a quick way to end that, and he doesn't hesitate. He grabs the Doctor where neck meets shoulder and presses, thumb finding the nerve, squeezing until the Doctor falls unconscious. So he can leave the room (running away, that's what he always does, coward, fucking coward, his mind screams at him), leave the Doctor behind. Maybe get as drunk as hell and make Lucy give him a blowjob. Wash the taste of the Doctor from his mouth with brandy and pussy. It has worked well so far.
And he goes on telling himself that.