Darker Inclinations, Chapter 2.2
Title: Darker Inclinations
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Cuddy, House, some Wilson
Author's Note: This was written for help_lisa. This auction was won by grouchy_snarky who wanted a sequel to A Dark Inclination. This series will also fulfill 50kinkyways prompt 29. Submissive.
Warning: This chapter contains explicit sex, spanking, orgasm denial, and dominance/submission.
Summary: House and Cuddy take their burgeoning relationship further and into darker territories. Can they balance this new dynamic with the one they have at work? Parallels season 4. Established Huddy relationship.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 (Part One), Chapter 1 (Part Two), Chapter 1 (Part Three), Chapter 2 (Part One)
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
As if moving much less leaving are even possibilities, she thinks. He slips away from her to retrieve the item in question, and she is frozen in place. She can stop him if she wants to. She can get up and run if fear overwhelms her. That’s something she recognizes as he leaves the room. None of this has to happen, assuming she has any idea what this really is.
But she does as she’s told.
It seems so stupid… and wrong to wait for his return, to anticipate it with a keen longing. Her mind has cosigned the endeavor, but her body seems to belong to someone else, ruled by something she can't quite name. And yet none of that makes her move or call the whole thing off. She lies there and waits, and when he finally emerges from the bathroom once more, her heart pounds with eagerness.
She catches sight of the brush, and she feels lightheaded, dizzy with need.
As he moves in front of her once again, he slaps the palm of his hand lightly with the brush threateningly. His gaze remains relaxed however, like nothing is about to happen. His tone is similar - conversational, without a care in the world.
"Now... you have one more time to tell me the truth."
Like that will ever happen. "I already did," she says with force. Before she wasn't sure she could commit to the lie. Now the thrill of the game has her forgetting the exhaustion she felt earlier. She can say and do whatever she wants with bravado, because she knows what the result will be.
"That's unfortunate." His dismay is forced. With his free hand, he draws a circle in the air, a silent instruction to roll over.
Forcing herself not to seem too eager, she moves slowly. The thick covers on top of her help impede the motion. In a way though, that just makes things worse. He watches her with heated eyes. It's as though he can't believe she's willing to let him do this and, at the same time, can't wait to smack her ass. He's turned on, mesmerized by her every move, and because of that, she's never felt more attractive. He wants her so much.
And she wants him.
She wants what he will do.
By the time he carefully peels back the sheets, she blurts out feverishly, "Okay, I didn't do what you wanted." So much for being interested in getting away with the lie, she tells herself.
He must mistake her words for wanting to avoid punishment instead of the product of her desire for the spanking he's about to give her. Because he is adamant. "It's too late for honesty. You had your chance to make this right. Now you have to accept the consequences of your actions."
His hand tucks into the center of her shorts, right at the small of her back. Fingertips glide along the seam of her ass, stroke her lightly as he pulls the clothing off. When her bottoms are at her knees, he stops tugging, steps back instead. She doesn't look back at him. She doesn't need to to know that he's staring at her lying there, head resting against her pillow, ass exposed to him.
"Tell me what you did," he instructs.
The demand for confession leaves her ambivalent. On the one hand, needy, she doesn't want to state what they both know. That just wastes time, delays the moment when he'll hit her. On the other hand, being forced to admit her crimes heightens that need. She likes the idea of being bad, of being punished, being absolved of her sins. Even if she hasn't really done anything wrong, the honesty the act requires appeals to her.
Impatient, House snaps, "Do you want to make this worse? Because you're already in enough trouble, and while I'd love to give you extras for hesitation, I'm not sure you're going to enjoy it when your ass is red."
Her tone is equally perturbed. "All right already. I'll say it."
She sees him crane his neck back at the way she speaks to him. He shakes his head. "I would reconsider your tone when you're at my mercy."
She keeps that in mind... for the times she feels that provoking him is necessary. Tonight though, she'll play it straight, ignore him. Doing as he originally asked, Cuddy admits, "I didn't masturbate like you told me to. Or at all. I thought that if you wanted to punish me, you should be the one to do it. If I wanted to get myself off, I wouldn't have -”
"I think that's enough," he cuts off. She stops talking, understanding that he can, will, and probably already has filled in the rest of that sentence. He knows her almost as well as she knows herself; nothing more needs to be said on her part.
But if he can read her well, she thinks she isn't as talented at the reverse. In her head, he draws the moment out, makes her beg for forgiveness before he starts. In reality...
The first blow lands before she even notices that he's raised his hand into the air. The wooden brush is harsher than his hand, makes her scream in equal parts pain and surprise as soon as he makes contact.
When he first spanked her, he paused to give her a chance to stop him. Tonight she isn't so fortunate. The rules have been distinctly drawn for them both now, and they both know the word she must say if things become too painful or frightening. Language is on her side, and the power is in her hands firmly; she doesn't need an opening permitted by him to stop the act. She has one automatically if she needs it. He acts under the assumption that she doesn't.
As always, he's not wrong.
The brush smacks against her again. Heat and pain rush through her, soothed, worsened only by her wish for more. He continues, repeatedly, spanking her loudly and roughly. The act isn't as intimate as when he used his hand; it's colder and worse. If the pain she felt a couple days ago surprised her, she knows that will be nothing to how she feels tomorrow.
But God if he isn't right about it getting her off. All of his knowing taunts reverberate in her head in time with the spanking she's receiving. As the hairbrush whooshes through the air, as she cries out incoherently, mentally, she is aware enough to notice the changes in her body, the heavy desire in the pit of her stomach. It hurts - so much - but it's everything she wants and more.
She feels awful for lying. He spanks her with a loud thwack. She feels cared for and protected, somehow taken in by his control, reassured by the power she carries within her. The brush crashes against her again in several harsh, short slaps, and she's not sure she can ever be good again if he will do this to her every time she misbehaves.
It's unlikely that he cares about that. She is crying too hard to look back and see the desire in his face. She is too turned on to risk him seeing that his punishment is anything but that. But she knows by the way he is becoming rougher, faster with his slaps that he is becoming just as turned on by the act as she is. She can't be sure that he's hard, but she's willing to bet on it. If he's gotten this far, why wouldn't he enjoy seeing her sprawled out on the bed below him at his mercy? Why wouldn't he get off on spanking her red, controlling her, making her cry?
He changes his pattern with one long, furious blow. The pain too much for her to bear, her need for his dick inside of her, she screams out, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please. More."
A clattering sound fills the air as he suddenly stops. At the moment it happens, she has no idea what's going on. Tomorrow morning when she's getting ready for work, she'll find her hairbrush in the hallway and understand that the noise was him throwing the brush out of his way.
He grabs onto her tank top. "Roll over," he barks, pulling her to get his way. If she were in any way capable of comprehending anything right now, she would do it herself. Since she's not, she simply allows him to tug her into the position he wants.
Her ass burns as all of her weight suddenly rests against it, and tears slip down her cheeks in pain. He mildly pays attention to what she's doing but says nothing. Even through all of this, she knows as does he that she can say, "Yak," and end things right then and there if need be. Since she doesn't, he ignores the emotional display.
Violently, coldly he spreads her legs and even more forcefully begins to finger her. Instantly her cries of anguish turn to ones of need. Her pussy clenches against him, wanting to feel him touch every little bit of her body. Her clit seems to strain for his thumb to stray from the rest of his hand. She burns for him, throbs for the one swipe to her clitoris that will end things for her.
It, and as a result she, does not come.
He pumps his fingers inside of her in harsh jabs that are almost painful they're so rough. But she doesn't feel the pain, only the need for more.
And that is precisely what he denies her.
After a moment, he pulls out of her. She whines, and he grabs her shorts, pushes them back up around her hips.
"No," she fights, hands reaching down to stop him from dressing her once more. But she is worn out from work, from being spanked, from almost coming. He is razor sharp with his focus, and when his attentions are all on putting her clothes on, she has no chance at winning the battle. He easily knocks her hands away and ignores her.
She tries to bypass the hands that block her path, but he is quicker than she is. Leaning over her, he looks her in the eyes and shakes his head. "Listen to me, Cuddy."
"No!"
"Uh uh. You've had your freedom, and now you're going to listen to me, sweetie." He condescends with just enough edge in his voice to make her inability to get off that much worse. "When I tell you to do something, you do it. You feel that?" he asks, and she's not sure if he means the pain in her ass, the warmth in her cunt, or the vice of his hands he now has around her wrists. "All that need and nowhere for it to go? I wanted you to feel that, so you could begin to consider what you would hate doing enough to even begin to feel this way. For your list."
She blinks, frowns, whines fretfully, "But I already wrote the list."
He lets go of her hands, perhaps satisfied that she won't disobey him anymore (for now at least). Tilting his head, he kisses her forehead. "You did," he says with pride. "Like a good girl. But when I talked to you, you hadn't. And I gave you specific instructions, which you did not follow and then lied about."
"I'm sorry." She doesn't sound like it. The apology comes out more hasty than anything else, more of a hiss of frustration than a demonstration of remorse. "That's no reason to leave me like -”
"Oh but it is. You're not coming tonight." She misses his matter of fact tone, because she's too busy objecting. "No," he interrupts her dismissively. "I've made my decision, and we agreed that your holes are mine to use as I see fit."
If he's trying to keep her from coming, it's not working. His authoritative tone, the way he's laying claim to her body... it's not a turn off. He's saying that she is his, and that's all she wants right now, to be his. She just wants to orgasm as well. And why shouldn't she?
"But -”
"If I have to tell you no one more time," he warns. "You won't be coming for a week."
She swallows the "But" she wants to utter. Looking at him, she can see that he's completely serious. Her instinct is to accuse him of being ridiculous, to say that he can't possibly mean what he says. If she does that though, he will make sure she remains orgasm-less for an entire week. She could try to cheat, of course, but as he always does, he would figure it out. He would know, and what would the punishment be then? No orgasms for another full week? Two weeks? Longer?
There's no way she would survive that. He wouldn't stay away for that long. He would come over and come, and she would be asked to participate with limited enjoyment. And after years of not having someone in her bed regularly, she doesn't want to be restricted in how much she is allowed to like the sex she has.
Again, she wouldn't be able to bear that.
Which means...
She has no choice but to do as he says now.
Instantly he sees the defeat in her face and smiles. "Good."
"No, it's not."
"Don't be a baby. Besides, it's not all bad for you. Since you were capable of behaving long enough to write that list, you've earned a reward, I think." His tone doesn't make it sound like anything she wants.
When he sits on the bed next to her, she amends the statement. It is something she wants. The contents of the bulge in his pants are absolutely what she wants. But she knows even before he says it that she won't exactly get it the way she likes.
"You can suck me off. Right now."
She makes no move to do that, her eyes wide with disbelief. Angrily she starts to ask, "You think I want to -”
"I think you want my cock any way you can get it, yeah. I think you think you can fight your way into getting what you want. You can't." His bravado breaks down. "Unless you say, you know." The facade immediately returns, and the chill in his voice is more palpable than ever. "On the other hand, I know I can get my way without any fighting for what I want. You're going to let me use your mouth, because I'm telling you to. So. Unless you want that week without any orgasms, I'd get started."
She hates him. She wants him. She wants more; she wants his dick, even in this less-than-egalitarian way. "Wants" seems to be the keyword for her, desire the more apparent presence inside of her, and so it's no surprise to her or to him that he gets his way without any extra drama.
Sitting up fully, she turns to him. Her hands work on his zipper, and he seems pleased. He's the one about to get off, but the way he looks at her, she might as well be signing paperwork for him. There's no desperation about him, just quiet approval at her behavior. She supposes that's better than anything he might say right now. Her shorts are already clinging to her wet cunt, the seam rubbing torturously against her swollen clit. She doesn't need his words to make her hornier and desperate enough to beg in spite of his orders.
He has made it clear what will happen if she doesn't accept her punishment.
But all of that almost goes out the window when she pulls his erection through the opening his boxers and jeans. He's hard, precum beading along the head, begging for her to taste him. She wants to, whimpering at the thought. Seeing him though, she really just wants to put it in her pussy, sit on him and rock against him until she can't take anymore.
He understands, stroking her cheek. "You like that?" She nods her head. "You want that?"
"Yes."
"In your pussy?" She nods her head enthusiastically, hand gripping his cock as though if she has a hold of it, she'll get what she wants. He smirks. Like an asshole, she thinks, as he denies her. "Well, that's not going to happen, is it?"
She glares at him in frustration.
He grabs her by the chin roughly. "What was that?" he demands.
Cuddy senses the trouble she's in, his anger evident. Quickly she tries to smooth things over. "Nothing."
"You're right - 'nothing.' Only good girls get cocks in their tight pussies, don't they?" She doesn't answer, so he reaches behind her and spanks her once with his hand. She cries in pain, fingers slipping off of him so she can bear the blow. "Don't they?" he repeats.
"Yes."
"Yes what? Say it."
She swallows, vagina struggling to orgasm as she repeats, "Only good girls get cocks in their pussies."
"That's right. Unfortunately...." He doesn't sound too broken up about it. "You're not that good. Now get started."
There's no hesitation. It drives her crazy that this is happening, but that's not a bad feeling. As she runs her tongue along his dick, she hardly notes the frustration a saner person would feel. She's not mad that he will use her in this way, not upset. Even in not coming, she is somehow satisfied by the game they're playing. She feels the thrill of being controlled, owned, and there's no fear or regret that comes from the current dynamic.
This close to his erection, she is consumed by his attraction to her. She's the one with the spanked ass, but this, she thinks as she laves over his balls, is all for her. Kissing her way messily back to the head of his penis, she can't be upset by the way this has turned out. Their relationship right now, in this moment, is too good to feel any sort of resentment.
His hand lightly rubs against the back of her neck when she pulls the tip of him into her mouth. She lets him bob against her tongue, being careful not to allow her teeth to get in the way. It's not enough for him.
"Come on," he says with just a hint of gravel in his voice. "You can take more."
With ease she starts to do just that. Her hair falls in her face as his hard cock moves deeper inside her. He groans, stops when the head nears the back of her throat. She knows from experience that he won't be happy to leave things here. He will want more; he's just giving her time to calm herself down, to coax away whatever gag reflex might be awakening. In this particular instant, he is wise to let her wait. She is so on edge with need that she can't seem to relax enough to let him go where he needs.
"It's okay." He's gentle then, fingers rubbing her neck, others gathering her dark hair into a loose ponytail. He can't even see her eyes from this angle; she's got his dick in her mouth and face obscured by his pants. But he somehow knows what's happening. "You can do this. Just relax. Let me use you like you were made to be used." How he manages to make that sound sexy, she'll never know. "You're not gonna get sick," he reassures. "Take a few deep breaths with your nose. That's it. That's good," he coos, as she starts to relax against him. His honeyed tones help, or maybe that's just what slowing down has done. "Perfect."
As best he can, he arches his hips up. Gently he pushes himself further into her mouth until his cock is deep in her throat. He hisses, trying to hold back from fucking her in harsh strokes that will definitely make her sick right now. Tamping down his desire, House relaxes against the bed once more. The hand on her neck holds her close, so his dick stays where he wants it to be.
Perhaps his mouth opens then to offer her more reassurances. But by that point, she no longer needs them. Having adjusted to his considerable girth and the presence inside of her, she is ready. She pulls back before letting him barrel down her throat again. He shouts something that sounds like "That's - Yes!" more loudly than usual, and she has to assume that he was in the middle of saying something else when she took him by surprise.
That's hardly the last thing he says, though it certainly is the last thing she pays attention to. Her focus at that moment is on getting him off, on being used, as he has said, like she was meant to be used. Her tongue rocks against him, saliva easing his passage up and down her throat, along her mouth. He's large, almost too much so for her jaw, and he's hard, and it's all for her.
The way he wants her, she can't even believe how much time she wasted with J-Date and IVF and drunken one night stands with donors’ nephews at charity events. She has been looking all this time for someone to need her, want her, to choose her. And suddenly she has everything she wants... or almost everything, an orgasm elusive for her this evening.
But that's nothing compared to what House is giving her. He has risked so much to be with her, for this. And in the pleas for her, all the encouragements, and exclamations, she can hear the willful abandonment in his voice. He has put a lot on the line, and right now with his dick where it belongs, he can't possibly care less. In that moment, they are equals. Whatever the outward appearance looks like (and what a picture it paints, with her flushed cheeks and ass and her head submissively pressed to his penis), they are in this together, each others in a way that gives them both immense power over the other.
She's thinking she wouldn't change a thing as she sucks his cock in earnest, hungrily.
And then he tugs on her hair, pulls her off of his erection. With long strings of spit attached, he slips out of her mouth.
"What are you doing?" she starts to ask. But he ignores the question.
His hand reaches for her tank top and forces it downward. Eagerly her breasts are exposed, nipples already hardened from being turned on so much. Her mouth still open and waiting, she doesn't understand what's going on.
"Don't you dare move," he orders, his free hand gripping his cock wet from her mouth.
Quickly he begins to stroke himself, jerking his body off with a frenzy she thought only existed in thirteen-year-old boys. And then he's orgasming with a shout, ropes of white come crossing the distance between their bodies.
Landing on her breasts and stomach.
The hot liquid clings to her, slips along her curves lazily, but she barely even notices it. Her gaze is trained on him as he rides out the last of his climax. Since she has been denied the right to come, she can only live vicariously through him.
She watches his face redden, features screw up as the pleasure reaches its zenith. Her own muscles tighten as though seeing him come will somehow transfer an orgasm into her body.
Sadly, that doesn't happen, and she is left watching, wanting, as he slowly relaxes into the bed.
Moments later he opens his eyes and looks at her, takes in the sight of his come on her naked chest. His gaze forces hers to follow. She focuses on the proof of her hard work on her areolas and fights the urge to eat the come off her chest. Fights it, she thinks, only because she knows he has orgasmed on her breasts for a reason, and he won't like it if she ruins it.
"There we go," he says slowly, pulling her tank top back up. Immediately the fabric sticks to her come-covered skin. It's uncomfortable, which makes her frown.
"Now you're going to make me change?" she asks unimpressed.
He looks at her carefully. "No, you're going to wear what you have on to bed."
"But I don't like it."
The expression he gives her says the, "Like I care," he doesn't. What he does say to her is, "I'm sure you don't. But you're going to wear it anyways. Know why?"
"Because you're telling me to."
"Well, there's that. But I was going to say, so that it reminds you just who's in charge here."
She pulls away from him. Arms crossed, she leans against the headboard. "I already -”
"Your behavior would suggest otherwise."
"That's because -”
"Yeah, see this is the part where you realize I don't care what your excuses are. This is the part where you understand that if you don't start doing as you're told, if you don't stop complaining, wearing a little come to bed is going to be the least of your problems."
That's probably the truth, so she decides to accept what he's done. If it becomes unbearable, she supposes she can wash it off when he sleeps. If he plans on sleeping here.
"Fine," she says tiredly. "Are you staying tonight?"
He slips his pants off entirely then tucks his softening cock back into his shorts. "Wasn't going to, but it's late. I want to sleep." Quickly he strips off his shirt.
There's no need to discuss the matter anymore. Although she'd like to be able to wash his come off, change, and sleep in peace, she's not so desperate to do any of those things that she's willing to kick him out. Besides, he would understand what that meant if she did. So she lets him brush his teeth with the spare toothbrush he's been using, lets him throw his dirty clothes around her room, lets him slip under the sheets next to her.
She shifts on the bed soon after, trying to get comfortable.
"Stop being dramatic. You're fine."
"I don't like my clothes sticking to me."
He wasn't lying when he said he wanted to sleep. Because despite his threats only minutes ago, he's quickly capitulating. "Then change." He sighs like he can't even believe this is happening. "Who cares?"
"You said -”
"I don't want to deal with your whining anymore. So change if you want to."
This isn't a trick, she realizes. He's not offering her the solution to see what she'll do, to find new ways of punishing her when she takes the bait. He's actually giving in, the frustration in his voice making that obvious. He doesn't care what she does, because he's tired and not in the mood, and she thinks she should take advantage of his state to get what she wants.
Instead, she stops fighting him on this. She falls silent beside him. As much as she would like to change, she's not so pathetic that she'll take advantage of him when he's too exhausted to fight. She would rather get her way, because she's earned it, not because he's capitulated before the argument has even begun.
"You're insane," he scoffs, burying his head into her pillow when it's obvious she won't put on different clothes after all.
She turns her head toward him. "I must be." At that, she can feel his gaze on her. He assumes there's regret in her words, shame maybe for the way she has let him treat her tonight and in previous nights. He would be wrong about that though, and she hopes to cut off any second guessing by telling him, "Don't read anything into that. I just changed my mind about the clothes, all right?"
"If you say so."
"I do."
Then he can't resist. "Well we both you're such a woman of your word."
"Like it would be as fun for you if I openly admitted what -”
"Fun for me?" He chuckles, kisses the back of her neck. "I'm pretty sure if anyone's getting off on the -”
"Last I checked, I didn't get off at all."
"Poor baby."
His arm snakes around her waist, and she flirts with the idea that it will lead to something more. The only thing it leads to is more conversation.
As she tries to hide her disappointment, House tells her, "Assuming I solve my case tomorrow, I'm going to ask Wilson to the movies. I think he has another date."
"So I should be prepared for another conversation with him." She feels him nod his head. "And if you don't save your patient's life?"
"Technically even if I figure out what the problem is, I still might not save his -”
"You know what I mean."
"Don't get snappy."
"I'm not."
"You -”
"I said I'm not." His silence is his way of saying that she is. "Fine. Maybe I am a little bit."
"A little bit?"
"Would you just answer the question?"
"If I can slip away, I will. If not, I'll ask Wilson to make up for not taking me to the movies on Tuesday."
"He has another date on Tuesday?"
"No, you have a meeting on Tuesday."
She sighs and rolls over to look at him. "You looked at my calendar."
He shrugs innocently. "You didn't think that I would? It's lying on your coffee table next to your little list."
"Oh," she says in surprise. Then she realizes the flaw. "But if I have a meeting, why would you -”
"Because I want to know who Wilson's dating. And I'm not going to know the answer to that if I spend all my time with you." He must think that he sounds unappreciative of their relationship, ambivalent about it. He clarifies, "Not that I'm not enjoying this, because I am. And I want that to continue. But if I don't start interfering with Wilson just a little bit, that's going to be a reason for suspicion." That makes sense, she guesses. "And I don't think you want him snooping around our relationship just yet."
"No, you're right." She just doesn't want his friendship with Wilson, this obsession to know everything about him and the people he sleeps with, to interfere with anything else. She knows how House gets. Once he starts digging into something, he can't stop until he's reached the bottom. Whoever Wilson is with, she's someone that he doesn't want House to know about. And whether that's because Wilson thinks the relationship could be serious or because she's someone House knows or will hate is impossible to say. But what Wilson's secrecy suggests to Cuddy is that the puzzle is juicy enough to entice her boyfriend. She doesn't want their relationship to play second fiddle to House's curiosity. She doesn't want to think what it means if he ends up prioritizing Wilson over her.
In the end, she simplifies matters by telling House, "Just remember who's wearing your come right now."
There's a pause, a gentle hand running along her hipbone. Then he can't resist.
"So what you're saying is I have to hire Taub."
Repulsed at the mental picture, she turns away from him. "That's disgusting."
He tries to allay her fears by saying, "I'll keep that in mind, okay? I won't forget -”
"You better," she tells him in a voice that lets him know:
He may be the one doing the spanking, but he certainly isn't the only one who can make threats.
Continue on to the next chapter
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Cuddy, House, some Wilson
Author's Note: This was written for help_lisa. This auction was won by grouchy_snarky who wanted a sequel to A Dark Inclination. This series will also fulfill 50kinkyways prompt 29. Submissive.
Warning: This chapter contains explicit sex, spanking, orgasm denial, and dominance/submission.
Summary: House and Cuddy take their burgeoning relationship further and into darker territories. Can they balance this new dynamic with the one they have at work? Parallels season 4. Established Huddy relationship.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 (Part One), Chapter 1 (Part Two), Chapter 1 (Part Three), Chapter 2 (Part One)
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
As if moving much less leaving are even possibilities, she thinks. He slips away from her to retrieve the item in question, and she is frozen in place. She can stop him if she wants to. She can get up and run if fear overwhelms her. That’s something she recognizes as he leaves the room. None of this has to happen, assuming she has any idea what this really is.
But she does as she’s told.
It seems so stupid… and wrong to wait for his return, to anticipate it with a keen longing. Her mind has cosigned the endeavor, but her body seems to belong to someone else, ruled by something she can't quite name. And yet none of that makes her move or call the whole thing off. She lies there and waits, and when he finally emerges from the bathroom once more, her heart pounds with eagerness.
She catches sight of the brush, and she feels lightheaded, dizzy with need.
As he moves in front of her once again, he slaps the palm of his hand lightly with the brush threateningly. His gaze remains relaxed however, like nothing is about to happen. His tone is similar - conversational, without a care in the world.
"Now... you have one more time to tell me the truth."
Like that will ever happen. "I already did," she says with force. Before she wasn't sure she could commit to the lie. Now the thrill of the game has her forgetting the exhaustion she felt earlier. She can say and do whatever she wants with bravado, because she knows what the result will be.
"That's unfortunate." His dismay is forced. With his free hand, he draws a circle in the air, a silent instruction to roll over.
Forcing herself not to seem too eager, she moves slowly. The thick covers on top of her help impede the motion. In a way though, that just makes things worse. He watches her with heated eyes. It's as though he can't believe she's willing to let him do this and, at the same time, can't wait to smack her ass. He's turned on, mesmerized by her every move, and because of that, she's never felt more attractive. He wants her so much.
And she wants him.
She wants what he will do.
By the time he carefully peels back the sheets, she blurts out feverishly, "Okay, I didn't do what you wanted." So much for being interested in getting away with the lie, she tells herself.
He must mistake her words for wanting to avoid punishment instead of the product of her desire for the spanking he's about to give her. Because he is adamant. "It's too late for honesty. You had your chance to make this right. Now you have to accept the consequences of your actions."
His hand tucks into the center of her shorts, right at the small of her back. Fingertips glide along the seam of her ass, stroke her lightly as he pulls the clothing off. When her bottoms are at her knees, he stops tugging, steps back instead. She doesn't look back at him. She doesn't need to to know that he's staring at her lying there, head resting against her pillow, ass exposed to him.
"Tell me what you did," he instructs.
The demand for confession leaves her ambivalent. On the one hand, needy, she doesn't want to state what they both know. That just wastes time, delays the moment when he'll hit her. On the other hand, being forced to admit her crimes heightens that need. She likes the idea of being bad, of being punished, being absolved of her sins. Even if she hasn't really done anything wrong, the honesty the act requires appeals to her.
Impatient, House snaps, "Do you want to make this worse? Because you're already in enough trouble, and while I'd love to give you extras for hesitation, I'm not sure you're going to enjoy it when your ass is red."
Her tone is equally perturbed. "All right already. I'll say it."
She sees him crane his neck back at the way she speaks to him. He shakes his head. "I would reconsider your tone when you're at my mercy."
She keeps that in mind... for the times she feels that provoking him is necessary. Tonight though, she'll play it straight, ignore him. Doing as he originally asked, Cuddy admits, "I didn't masturbate like you told me to. Or at all. I thought that if you wanted to punish me, you should be the one to do it. If I wanted to get myself off, I wouldn't have -”
"I think that's enough," he cuts off. She stops talking, understanding that he can, will, and probably already has filled in the rest of that sentence. He knows her almost as well as she knows herself; nothing more needs to be said on her part.
But if he can read her well, she thinks she isn't as talented at the reverse. In her head, he draws the moment out, makes her beg for forgiveness before he starts. In reality...
The first blow lands before she even notices that he's raised his hand into the air. The wooden brush is harsher than his hand, makes her scream in equal parts pain and surprise as soon as he makes contact.
When he first spanked her, he paused to give her a chance to stop him. Tonight she isn't so fortunate. The rules have been distinctly drawn for them both now, and they both know the word she must say if things become too painful or frightening. Language is on her side, and the power is in her hands firmly; she doesn't need an opening permitted by him to stop the act. She has one automatically if she needs it. He acts under the assumption that she doesn't.
As always, he's not wrong.
The brush smacks against her again. Heat and pain rush through her, soothed, worsened only by her wish for more. He continues, repeatedly, spanking her loudly and roughly. The act isn't as intimate as when he used his hand; it's colder and worse. If the pain she felt a couple days ago surprised her, she knows that will be nothing to how she feels tomorrow.
But God if he isn't right about it getting her off. All of his knowing taunts reverberate in her head in time with the spanking she's receiving. As the hairbrush whooshes through the air, as she cries out incoherently, mentally, she is aware enough to notice the changes in her body, the heavy desire in the pit of her stomach. It hurts - so much - but it's everything she wants and more.
She feels awful for lying. He spanks her with a loud thwack. She feels cared for and protected, somehow taken in by his control, reassured by the power she carries within her. The brush crashes against her again in several harsh, short slaps, and she's not sure she can ever be good again if he will do this to her every time she misbehaves.
It's unlikely that he cares about that. She is crying too hard to look back and see the desire in his face. She is too turned on to risk him seeing that his punishment is anything but that. But she knows by the way he is becoming rougher, faster with his slaps that he is becoming just as turned on by the act as she is. She can't be sure that he's hard, but she's willing to bet on it. If he's gotten this far, why wouldn't he enjoy seeing her sprawled out on the bed below him at his mercy? Why wouldn't he get off on spanking her red, controlling her, making her cry?
He changes his pattern with one long, furious blow. The pain too much for her to bear, her need for his dick inside of her, she screams out, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please. More."
A clattering sound fills the air as he suddenly stops. At the moment it happens, she has no idea what's going on. Tomorrow morning when she's getting ready for work, she'll find her hairbrush in the hallway and understand that the noise was him throwing the brush out of his way.
He grabs onto her tank top. "Roll over," he barks, pulling her to get his way. If she were in any way capable of comprehending anything right now, she would do it herself. Since she's not, she simply allows him to tug her into the position he wants.
Her ass burns as all of her weight suddenly rests against it, and tears slip down her cheeks in pain. He mildly pays attention to what she's doing but says nothing. Even through all of this, she knows as does he that she can say, "Yak," and end things right then and there if need be. Since she doesn't, he ignores the emotional display.
Violently, coldly he spreads her legs and even more forcefully begins to finger her. Instantly her cries of anguish turn to ones of need. Her pussy clenches against him, wanting to feel him touch every little bit of her body. Her clit seems to strain for his thumb to stray from the rest of his hand. She burns for him, throbs for the one swipe to her clitoris that will end things for her.
It, and as a result she, does not come.
He pumps his fingers inside of her in harsh jabs that are almost painful they're so rough. But she doesn't feel the pain, only the need for more.
And that is precisely what he denies her.
After a moment, he pulls out of her. She whines, and he grabs her shorts, pushes them back up around her hips.
"No," she fights, hands reaching down to stop him from dressing her once more. But she is worn out from work, from being spanked, from almost coming. He is razor sharp with his focus, and when his attentions are all on putting her clothes on, she has no chance at winning the battle. He easily knocks her hands away and ignores her.
She tries to bypass the hands that block her path, but he is quicker than she is. Leaning over her, he looks her in the eyes and shakes his head. "Listen to me, Cuddy."
"No!"
"Uh uh. You've had your freedom, and now you're going to listen to me, sweetie." He condescends with just enough edge in his voice to make her inability to get off that much worse. "When I tell you to do something, you do it. You feel that?" he asks, and she's not sure if he means the pain in her ass, the warmth in her cunt, or the vice of his hands he now has around her wrists. "All that need and nowhere for it to go? I wanted you to feel that, so you could begin to consider what you would hate doing enough to even begin to feel this way. For your list."
She blinks, frowns, whines fretfully, "But I already wrote the list."
He lets go of her hands, perhaps satisfied that she won't disobey him anymore (for now at least). Tilting his head, he kisses her forehead. "You did," he says with pride. "Like a good girl. But when I talked to you, you hadn't. And I gave you specific instructions, which you did not follow and then lied about."
"I'm sorry." She doesn't sound like it. The apology comes out more hasty than anything else, more of a hiss of frustration than a demonstration of remorse. "That's no reason to leave me like -”
"Oh but it is. You're not coming tonight." She misses his matter of fact tone, because she's too busy objecting. "No," he interrupts her dismissively. "I've made my decision, and we agreed that your holes are mine to use as I see fit."
If he's trying to keep her from coming, it's not working. His authoritative tone, the way he's laying claim to her body... it's not a turn off. He's saying that she is his, and that's all she wants right now, to be his. She just wants to orgasm as well. And why shouldn't she?
"But -”
"If I have to tell you no one more time," he warns. "You won't be coming for a week."
She swallows the "But" she wants to utter. Looking at him, she can see that he's completely serious. Her instinct is to accuse him of being ridiculous, to say that he can't possibly mean what he says. If she does that though, he will make sure she remains orgasm-less for an entire week. She could try to cheat, of course, but as he always does, he would figure it out. He would know, and what would the punishment be then? No orgasms for another full week? Two weeks? Longer?
There's no way she would survive that. He wouldn't stay away for that long. He would come over and come, and she would be asked to participate with limited enjoyment. And after years of not having someone in her bed regularly, she doesn't want to be restricted in how much she is allowed to like the sex she has.
Again, she wouldn't be able to bear that.
Which means...
She has no choice but to do as he says now.
Instantly he sees the defeat in her face and smiles. "Good."
"No, it's not."
"Don't be a baby. Besides, it's not all bad for you. Since you were capable of behaving long enough to write that list, you've earned a reward, I think." His tone doesn't make it sound like anything she wants.
When he sits on the bed next to her, she amends the statement. It is something she wants. The contents of the bulge in his pants are absolutely what she wants. But she knows even before he says it that she won't exactly get it the way she likes.
"You can suck me off. Right now."
She makes no move to do that, her eyes wide with disbelief. Angrily she starts to ask, "You think I want to -”
"I think you want my cock any way you can get it, yeah. I think you think you can fight your way into getting what you want. You can't." His bravado breaks down. "Unless you say, you know." The facade immediately returns, and the chill in his voice is more palpable than ever. "On the other hand, I know I can get my way without any fighting for what I want. You're going to let me use your mouth, because I'm telling you to. So. Unless you want that week without any orgasms, I'd get started."
She hates him. She wants him. She wants more; she wants his dick, even in this less-than-egalitarian way. "Wants" seems to be the keyword for her, desire the more apparent presence inside of her, and so it's no surprise to her or to him that he gets his way without any extra drama.
Sitting up fully, she turns to him. Her hands work on his zipper, and he seems pleased. He's the one about to get off, but the way he looks at her, she might as well be signing paperwork for him. There's no desperation about him, just quiet approval at her behavior. She supposes that's better than anything he might say right now. Her shorts are already clinging to her wet cunt, the seam rubbing torturously against her swollen clit. She doesn't need his words to make her hornier and desperate enough to beg in spite of his orders.
He has made it clear what will happen if she doesn't accept her punishment.
But all of that almost goes out the window when she pulls his erection through the opening his boxers and jeans. He's hard, precum beading along the head, begging for her to taste him. She wants to, whimpering at the thought. Seeing him though, she really just wants to put it in her pussy, sit on him and rock against him until she can't take anymore.
He understands, stroking her cheek. "You like that?" She nods her head. "You want that?"
"Yes."
"In your pussy?" She nods her head enthusiastically, hand gripping his cock as though if she has a hold of it, she'll get what she wants. He smirks. Like an asshole, she thinks, as he denies her. "Well, that's not going to happen, is it?"
She glares at him in frustration.
He grabs her by the chin roughly. "What was that?" he demands.
Cuddy senses the trouble she's in, his anger evident. Quickly she tries to smooth things over. "Nothing."
"You're right - 'nothing.' Only good girls get cocks in their tight pussies, don't they?" She doesn't answer, so he reaches behind her and spanks her once with his hand. She cries in pain, fingers slipping off of him so she can bear the blow. "Don't they?" he repeats.
"Yes."
"Yes what? Say it."
She swallows, vagina struggling to orgasm as she repeats, "Only good girls get cocks in their pussies."
"That's right. Unfortunately...." He doesn't sound too broken up about it. "You're not that good. Now get started."
There's no hesitation. It drives her crazy that this is happening, but that's not a bad feeling. As she runs her tongue along his dick, she hardly notes the frustration a saner person would feel. She's not mad that he will use her in this way, not upset. Even in not coming, she is somehow satisfied by the game they're playing. She feels the thrill of being controlled, owned, and there's no fear or regret that comes from the current dynamic.
This close to his erection, she is consumed by his attraction to her. She's the one with the spanked ass, but this, she thinks as she laves over his balls, is all for her. Kissing her way messily back to the head of his penis, she can't be upset by the way this has turned out. Their relationship right now, in this moment, is too good to feel any sort of resentment.
His hand lightly rubs against the back of her neck when she pulls the tip of him into her mouth. She lets him bob against her tongue, being careful not to allow her teeth to get in the way. It's not enough for him.
"Come on," he says with just a hint of gravel in his voice. "You can take more."
With ease she starts to do just that. Her hair falls in her face as his hard cock moves deeper inside her. He groans, stops when the head nears the back of her throat. She knows from experience that he won't be happy to leave things here. He will want more; he's just giving her time to calm herself down, to coax away whatever gag reflex might be awakening. In this particular instant, he is wise to let her wait. She is so on edge with need that she can't seem to relax enough to let him go where he needs.
"It's okay." He's gentle then, fingers rubbing her neck, others gathering her dark hair into a loose ponytail. He can't even see her eyes from this angle; she's got his dick in her mouth and face obscured by his pants. But he somehow knows what's happening. "You can do this. Just relax. Let me use you like you were made to be used." How he manages to make that sound sexy, she'll never know. "You're not gonna get sick," he reassures. "Take a few deep breaths with your nose. That's it. That's good," he coos, as she starts to relax against him. His honeyed tones help, or maybe that's just what slowing down has done. "Perfect."
As best he can, he arches his hips up. Gently he pushes himself further into her mouth until his cock is deep in her throat. He hisses, trying to hold back from fucking her in harsh strokes that will definitely make her sick right now. Tamping down his desire, House relaxes against the bed once more. The hand on her neck holds her close, so his dick stays where he wants it to be.
Perhaps his mouth opens then to offer her more reassurances. But by that point, she no longer needs them. Having adjusted to his considerable girth and the presence inside of her, she is ready. She pulls back before letting him barrel down her throat again. He shouts something that sounds like "That's - Yes!" more loudly than usual, and she has to assume that he was in the middle of saying something else when she took him by surprise.
That's hardly the last thing he says, though it certainly is the last thing she pays attention to. Her focus at that moment is on getting him off, on being used, as he has said, like she was meant to be used. Her tongue rocks against him, saliva easing his passage up and down her throat, along her mouth. He's large, almost too much so for her jaw, and he's hard, and it's all for her.
The way he wants her, she can't even believe how much time she wasted with J-Date and IVF and drunken one night stands with donors’ nephews at charity events. She has been looking all this time for someone to need her, want her, to choose her. And suddenly she has everything she wants... or almost everything, an orgasm elusive for her this evening.
But that's nothing compared to what House is giving her. He has risked so much to be with her, for this. And in the pleas for her, all the encouragements, and exclamations, she can hear the willful abandonment in his voice. He has put a lot on the line, and right now with his dick where it belongs, he can't possibly care less. In that moment, they are equals. Whatever the outward appearance looks like (and what a picture it paints, with her flushed cheeks and ass and her head submissively pressed to his penis), they are in this together, each others in a way that gives them both immense power over the other.
She's thinking she wouldn't change a thing as she sucks his cock in earnest, hungrily.
And then he tugs on her hair, pulls her off of his erection. With long strings of spit attached, he slips out of her mouth.
"What are you doing?" she starts to ask. But he ignores the question.
His hand reaches for her tank top and forces it downward. Eagerly her breasts are exposed, nipples already hardened from being turned on so much. Her mouth still open and waiting, she doesn't understand what's going on.
"Don't you dare move," he orders, his free hand gripping his cock wet from her mouth.
Quickly he begins to stroke himself, jerking his body off with a frenzy she thought only existed in thirteen-year-old boys. And then he's orgasming with a shout, ropes of white come crossing the distance between their bodies.
Landing on her breasts and stomach.
The hot liquid clings to her, slips along her curves lazily, but she barely even notices it. Her gaze is trained on him as he rides out the last of his climax. Since she has been denied the right to come, she can only live vicariously through him.
She watches his face redden, features screw up as the pleasure reaches its zenith. Her own muscles tighten as though seeing him come will somehow transfer an orgasm into her body.
Sadly, that doesn't happen, and she is left watching, wanting, as he slowly relaxes into the bed.
Moments later he opens his eyes and looks at her, takes in the sight of his come on her naked chest. His gaze forces hers to follow. She focuses on the proof of her hard work on her areolas and fights the urge to eat the come off her chest. Fights it, she thinks, only because she knows he has orgasmed on her breasts for a reason, and he won't like it if she ruins it.
"There we go," he says slowly, pulling her tank top back up. Immediately the fabric sticks to her come-covered skin. It's uncomfortable, which makes her frown.
"Now you're going to make me change?" she asks unimpressed.
He looks at her carefully. "No, you're going to wear what you have on to bed."
"But I don't like it."
The expression he gives her says the, "Like I care," he doesn't. What he does say to her is, "I'm sure you don't. But you're going to wear it anyways. Know why?"
"Because you're telling me to."
"Well, there's that. But I was going to say, so that it reminds you just who's in charge here."
She pulls away from him. Arms crossed, she leans against the headboard. "I already -”
"Your behavior would suggest otherwise."
"That's because -”
"Yeah, see this is the part where you realize I don't care what your excuses are. This is the part where you understand that if you don't start doing as you're told, if you don't stop complaining, wearing a little come to bed is going to be the least of your problems."
That's probably the truth, so she decides to accept what he's done. If it becomes unbearable, she supposes she can wash it off when he sleeps. If he plans on sleeping here.
"Fine," she says tiredly. "Are you staying tonight?"
He slips his pants off entirely then tucks his softening cock back into his shorts. "Wasn't going to, but it's late. I want to sleep." Quickly he strips off his shirt.
There's no need to discuss the matter anymore. Although she'd like to be able to wash his come off, change, and sleep in peace, she's not so desperate to do any of those things that she's willing to kick him out. Besides, he would understand what that meant if she did. So she lets him brush his teeth with the spare toothbrush he's been using, lets him throw his dirty clothes around her room, lets him slip under the sheets next to her.
She shifts on the bed soon after, trying to get comfortable.
"Stop being dramatic. You're fine."
"I don't like my clothes sticking to me."
He wasn't lying when he said he wanted to sleep. Because despite his threats only minutes ago, he's quickly capitulating. "Then change." He sighs like he can't even believe this is happening. "Who cares?"
"You said -”
"I don't want to deal with your whining anymore. So change if you want to."
This isn't a trick, she realizes. He's not offering her the solution to see what she'll do, to find new ways of punishing her when she takes the bait. He's actually giving in, the frustration in his voice making that obvious. He doesn't care what she does, because he's tired and not in the mood, and she thinks she should take advantage of his state to get what she wants.
Instead, she stops fighting him on this. She falls silent beside him. As much as she would like to change, she's not so pathetic that she'll take advantage of him when he's too exhausted to fight. She would rather get her way, because she's earned it, not because he's capitulated before the argument has even begun.
"You're insane," he scoffs, burying his head into her pillow when it's obvious she won't put on different clothes after all.
She turns her head toward him. "I must be." At that, she can feel his gaze on her. He assumes there's regret in her words, shame maybe for the way she has let him treat her tonight and in previous nights. He would be wrong about that though, and she hopes to cut off any second guessing by telling him, "Don't read anything into that. I just changed my mind about the clothes, all right?"
"If you say so."
"I do."
Then he can't resist. "Well we both you're such a woman of your word."
"Like it would be as fun for you if I openly admitted what -”
"Fun for me?" He chuckles, kisses the back of her neck. "I'm pretty sure if anyone's getting off on the -”
"Last I checked, I didn't get off at all."
"Poor baby."
His arm snakes around her waist, and she flirts with the idea that it will lead to something more. The only thing it leads to is more conversation.
As she tries to hide her disappointment, House tells her, "Assuming I solve my case tomorrow, I'm going to ask Wilson to the movies. I think he has another date."
"So I should be prepared for another conversation with him." She feels him nod his head. "And if you don't save your patient's life?"
"Technically even if I figure out what the problem is, I still might not save his -”
"You know what I mean."
"Don't get snappy."
"I'm not."
"You -”
"I said I'm not." His silence is his way of saying that she is. "Fine. Maybe I am a little bit."
"A little bit?"
"Would you just answer the question?"
"If I can slip away, I will. If not, I'll ask Wilson to make up for not taking me to the movies on Tuesday."
"He has another date on Tuesday?"
"No, you have a meeting on Tuesday."
She sighs and rolls over to look at him. "You looked at my calendar."
He shrugs innocently. "You didn't think that I would? It's lying on your coffee table next to your little list."
"Oh," she says in surprise. Then she realizes the flaw. "But if I have a meeting, why would you -”
"Because I want to know who Wilson's dating. And I'm not going to know the answer to that if I spend all my time with you." He must think that he sounds unappreciative of their relationship, ambivalent about it. He clarifies, "Not that I'm not enjoying this, because I am. And I want that to continue. But if I don't start interfering with Wilson just a little bit, that's going to be a reason for suspicion." That makes sense, she guesses. "And I don't think you want him snooping around our relationship just yet."
"No, you're right." She just doesn't want his friendship with Wilson, this obsession to know everything about him and the people he sleeps with, to interfere with anything else. She knows how House gets. Once he starts digging into something, he can't stop until he's reached the bottom. Whoever Wilson is with, she's someone that he doesn't want House to know about. And whether that's because Wilson thinks the relationship could be serious or because she's someone House knows or will hate is impossible to say. But what Wilson's secrecy suggests to Cuddy is that the puzzle is juicy enough to entice her boyfriend. She doesn't want their relationship to play second fiddle to House's curiosity. She doesn't want to think what it means if he ends up prioritizing Wilson over her.
In the end, she simplifies matters by telling House, "Just remember who's wearing your come right now."
There's a pause, a gentle hand running along her hipbone. Then he can't resist.
"So what you're saying is I have to hire Taub."
Repulsed at the mental picture, she turns away from him. "That's disgusting."
He tries to allay her fears by saying, "I'll keep that in mind, okay? I won't forget -”
"You better," she tells him in a voice that lets him know:
He may be the one doing the spanking, but he certainly isn't the only one who can make threats.
Continue on to the next chapter