maintenance
taeil/zico, 1k, nc-17
sens dep + pain + hand-feeding… subspace… etc
emails sent, questions answered; taeil glances at the clock in the corner of his computer screen and realizes it’s been twenty-five minutes already. he scratches his balls and stands from his desk chair, padding down the hall in his house slippers and bathrobe to find something suitable to eat.
the fridge has leftovers; mostly they’re things that require a fork, fried rice and things, but he digs out one of the rolls of convenience store kimbap he uses for work lunches and rips the top of the wrapper open as he shuffles back down the hall. that’s bite-sized and finger-friendly.
in the bedroom again, he breaks a piece off and pops it in his own mouth, kissing the sweet stickiness of rice off his fingers as he pulls the closet door open left-handed. he says nothing as he bends down, holding a piece of kimbap out; jiho’s face turns up to him like a sunflower even though he can’t see through the blindfold, and his mouth hangs open obediently as taeil unbuckles the gag with a few tugs and bumps the snack against his lips.
jiho’s a big guy, a lot bigger than taeil. it takes a lot to get him to feel really, truly helpless, how he wants to, how he likes to- it takes a full-body harness of rope, ankles lashed to thighs to keep him locked kneeling, rope criss-crossing up his torso and knotting his wrists in an X behind his back. it takes an hour blindfolded and bound in the closet in the dark, left to fight the ropes for the first thirty minutes and the remaining thirty to allow hopelessness to settle over him like a veil. it takes the constant agony of small clamps on his balls and nipples and the discomfort of restricted movement in his limbs and jaw. like that, an hour feels like ten hours, he’s told taeil before.
feeding is an excuse to check on him. they’re always silent when they do it; it’s also a chance for jiho to let him know if anything is going wrong without really safewording, but he never does. it makes jiho feel both cared for and completely objectified, like taeil is doing nothing more than replacing the oil in his car- maintenance to keep his possessions in working order.
jiho’s cock is soft, as it usually is when he’s locked in the closet. that’s not what this part is about for him. taeil, however, feels blood rush below his belt buckle at the sight of jiho’s open mouth, his hot breath on taeil’s hand.
absolute control.
one by one he holds the pieces up to jiho’s mouth, his pink, plush lips spreading silently. he chews and swallows as neatly as he can; only twice does taeil have to swipe a grain of rice from his thick lower lip. there’s no punishment for messiness, no praise for eating well- in the closet there’s nothing, nothing, jiho is nothing. a few times taeil pushes a finger in, feels the heat and softness of his tongue, feels the calm of jiho’s breath interrupted. he does it just because it pleases him. he could just as well slap him in the face or stroke his hair, if he felt like it; mostly he feels like it would take away from jiho’s nothing-ness.
when the food is gone, taeil shoves the wrapper in his back pocket and gets down on one knee to check jiho’s bindings, making sure there’s still room to tuck two fingers in, that no extremities are growing purple or cold. he sticks two fingers carelessly deep in jiho’s throat as he removes the clamps from his nipples and balls, moving with efficiency in mind and without even giving him time to process the agony of blood rushing back into the tissue. it’s important to remove and replace them every so often, so the skin gets some blood- noone’s aiming for nerve damage, here. jiho burbles in shock around his fingers and taeil pinches and tugs at the spots to get the blood flowing again, callously, mercilessly, and then replaces the clamps. sure enough, when taeil lets the clamps bite into his scrotum, jiho’s cock is beginning to flesh out, thickening and flushing. his torso twitching, jiho cuts off a groan, which taeil would ignore either way, as taeil reaches for the gag to push it back against jiho’s mouth.
breathing hard and shakey now, jiho opens his mouth for the rubber ball. taeil pushes it in and shuffles a little closer to peek around to the buckle on the side, making sure it fits snug enough to be uncomfortable.
as taeil stands he notices the common occurrence of wet spots on jiho’s blindfold. on one side, a tear has slipped down his cheek. he’s trembling.
it’ll pass, taeil knows. it’s the shock of having his clamps removed and reapplied; soon, the pain will fade to white noise, vibrating through his whole body, numbing his mind. by the time he opens the door again, jiho’s tears will have dried; he’ll be back to the blissful, useless calm of subspace.
taeil can’t resist rubbing himself through his pants quickly at the sight before him; jiho’s nipples, so red and tender just moments ago, pressed white by the clamps, his full lips wrapped around the ball of a gag, the rope wrapping him up like a gift. taeil especially enjoys the way his cock flushed half-hard and his face streaked with clear, shining tears, tipped up and still following taeil’s presence.
also how his throat pumps with panic as he moves any way he can to process the pain. well, taeil will leave him to that, then.
reaching into his back pocket for his phone, he glances at the time. that only took four minutes. good. that leaves another twenty-eight until he opens the closet door again.
then, they can really start the scene.
he shuts the closet door.
+
comments encourage writers to write!
sens dep + pain + hand-feeding… subspace… etc
emails sent, questions answered; taeil glances at the clock in the corner of his computer screen and realizes it’s been twenty-five minutes already. he scratches his balls and stands from his desk chair, padding down the hall in his house slippers and bathrobe to find something suitable to eat.
the fridge has leftovers; mostly they’re things that require a fork, fried rice and things, but he digs out one of the rolls of convenience store kimbap he uses for work lunches and rips the top of the wrapper open as he shuffles back down the hall. that’s bite-sized and finger-friendly.
in the bedroom again, he breaks a piece off and pops it in his own mouth, kissing the sweet stickiness of rice off his fingers as he pulls the closet door open left-handed. he says nothing as he bends down, holding a piece of kimbap out; jiho’s face turns up to him like a sunflower even though he can’t see through the blindfold, and his mouth hangs open obediently as taeil unbuckles the gag with a few tugs and bumps the snack against his lips.
jiho’s a big guy, a lot bigger than taeil. it takes a lot to get him to feel really, truly helpless, how he wants to, how he likes to- it takes a full-body harness of rope, ankles lashed to thighs to keep him locked kneeling, rope criss-crossing up his torso and knotting his wrists in an X behind his back. it takes an hour blindfolded and bound in the closet in the dark, left to fight the ropes for the first thirty minutes and the remaining thirty to allow hopelessness to settle over him like a veil. it takes the constant agony of small clamps on his balls and nipples and the discomfort of restricted movement in his limbs and jaw. like that, an hour feels like ten hours, he’s told taeil before.
feeding is an excuse to check on him. they’re always silent when they do it; it’s also a chance for jiho to let him know if anything is going wrong without really safewording, but he never does. it makes jiho feel both cared for and completely objectified, like taeil is doing nothing more than replacing the oil in his car- maintenance to keep his possessions in working order.
jiho’s cock is soft, as it usually is when he’s locked in the closet. that’s not what this part is about for him. taeil, however, feels blood rush below his belt buckle at the sight of jiho’s open mouth, his hot breath on taeil’s hand.
absolute control.
one by one he holds the pieces up to jiho’s mouth, his pink, plush lips spreading silently. he chews and swallows as neatly as he can; only twice does taeil have to swipe a grain of rice from his thick lower lip. there’s no punishment for messiness, no praise for eating well- in the closet there’s nothing, nothing, jiho is nothing. a few times taeil pushes a finger in, feels the heat and softness of his tongue, feels the calm of jiho’s breath interrupted. he does it just because it pleases him. he could just as well slap him in the face or stroke his hair, if he felt like it; mostly he feels like it would take away from jiho’s nothing-ness.
when the food is gone, taeil shoves the wrapper in his back pocket and gets down on one knee to check jiho’s bindings, making sure there’s still room to tuck two fingers in, that no extremities are growing purple or cold. he sticks two fingers carelessly deep in jiho’s throat as he removes the clamps from his nipples and balls, moving with efficiency in mind and without even giving him time to process the agony of blood rushing back into the tissue. it’s important to remove and replace them every so often, so the skin gets some blood- noone’s aiming for nerve damage, here. jiho burbles in shock around his fingers and taeil pinches and tugs at the spots to get the blood flowing again, callously, mercilessly, and then replaces the clamps. sure enough, when taeil lets the clamps bite into his scrotum, jiho’s cock is beginning to flesh out, thickening and flushing. his torso twitching, jiho cuts off a groan, which taeil would ignore either way, as taeil reaches for the gag to push it back against jiho’s mouth.
breathing hard and shakey now, jiho opens his mouth for the rubber ball. taeil pushes it in and shuffles a little closer to peek around to the buckle on the side, making sure it fits snug enough to be uncomfortable.
as taeil stands he notices the common occurrence of wet spots on jiho’s blindfold. on one side, a tear has slipped down his cheek. he’s trembling.
it’ll pass, taeil knows. it’s the shock of having his clamps removed and reapplied; soon, the pain will fade to white noise, vibrating through his whole body, numbing his mind. by the time he opens the door again, jiho’s tears will have dried; he’ll be back to the blissful, useless calm of subspace.
taeil can’t resist rubbing himself through his pants quickly at the sight before him; jiho’s nipples, so red and tender just moments ago, pressed white by the clamps, his full lips wrapped around the ball of a gag, the rope wrapping him up like a gift. taeil especially enjoys the way his cock flushed half-hard and his face streaked with clear, shining tears, tipped up and still following taeil’s presence.
also how his throat pumps with panic as he moves any way he can to process the pain. well, taeil will leave him to that, then.
reaching into his back pocket for his phone, he glances at the time. that only took four minutes. good. that leaves another twenty-eight until he opens the closet door again.
then, they can really start the scene.
he shuts the closet door.
+
comments encourage writers to write!