Netherland v Romania
Title : Netherlands v Romania (Group C, game five)
Author: dalehead
Pairing : Orlibean
Rating : NC-18
Summary : Not so much football as sex really...
Disclaimer: This is entirely made up.
Author’s Note : For kittylass
“Kneel …”
“Lan?”
“How fucking dare you fucking talk to me like that, get on your knees…”
“What the… … Ouch …”
There, that was better. Orlando was furious with Sean. Actually he wasn’t really but he considered it his duty to remind Sean of his place. The football was going to start shortly and he had decided Sean would have to watch it with a sore arse. After all, the Netherlands were through already, so although Romania needed to win by more than either France or Italy to stay in the tournament, there was more riding on France Italy. But France’s form had been pretty dire, so really unless one believed in miracles, the France had met their Waterloo.
“You’re still dressed.”
“But …”
“I said you are still dressed,” Orlando’s tone was clipped. Sean stripped and knelt in his Master’s preferred position. It was good but not submissive enough. “Down, present your arse to me,” his very glorious arse, the very Rolls Royce of arses in fact.
“Yes Master,” despite the lure of the football, Sean knew better than to fight this. He knew Orlando wouldn’t let him miss the match. What he didn’t know were the details.
“Better…”
Orlando fetched a small paddle, shaped like a table tennis bat but covered in leather with holes in it. Used with the right amount of strength it stung like the devil.
This time Orlando made Sean count, something he didn’t do very often. He made him count and he made him wait, he slowly beat his boy into a frenzy. Sean hated it like this, each stroke hurt and it was too slow for him, he liked it faster, not so erratic and he begun to moan. The moaning helped.
“Beg … I know what you want but beg and do it good, you’ve had too much licence granted, you forget your place … you forget you are mine.”
The words helped Sean to focus, find a semblance of headspace. Even now, nearly ten years on, he was still amazed that he belonged to Orlando, that he wore Orlando’s collar.
“Please Master, please beat your slave hard, your slave know he’s fucked up, please help me, help him to find his place, please Master, please hurt me … please?”
“Good boy, that’s more like it…” Orlando was pleased and besides he just wanted To remind his boy, this was hardly a punishment. He could hear the Dutch national anthem being played and he beat Sean in time to it. Just the rhythm he liked, not too fast and at just the right strength. He was rewarded by the sight of Sean’s fine arse turning a lovely shade of red, rewarded by his moans, the moans of a boy who wanted to be fucked.
“You wanna miss the first part of the match?” this was the greatest test of all.
Sean whined. He wanted Orlando’s cock.
“Please Master, please fuck your boy but please Master, please can you, we do it quick?”
Orlando laughed.
“Yes boy, get up and get over the couch,” his back was twinging after last night’s sex on the table. He needed Sean’s arse at the right level.
“Master, yes Master,” Sean glanced at Orlando but said no more.
They were experts at fast sex, mainly due to their penchant for fucking where they might get caught and this was an occasion when an Olympic Bronze Medal would have been in order.
“Master, yes oh god yes, please, yes like that …” Sean didn’t need to be touched to come, not at this speed but he had his hand ready to catch the detritus of orgasm.
They came together, both groaning loudly, both sweating profusely.
“Oh god …” Orlando groaned. “You are still as tight as the first time I fucked you,” he kissed Sean’s shoulder. “Vite, vite, le match est whatever the French is for begun,” he chuckled and turned the TV over to BBC1, sat down and waited for Sean to get his breath.
They flicked back and forth a few times, keeping an eye on it, but although the Netherlands scored, it was too much of a foregone conclusion for Sean to stress too much, especially when he had a well fucked and very warm backside.
Netherlands 2-0 Romania
Author: dalehead
Pairing : Orlibean
Rating : NC-18
Summary : Not so much football as sex really...
Disclaimer: This is entirely made up.
Author’s Note : For kittylass
“Kneel …”
“Lan?”
“How fucking dare you fucking talk to me like that, get on your knees…”
“What the… … Ouch …”
There, that was better. Orlando was furious with Sean. Actually he wasn’t really but he considered it his duty to remind Sean of his place. The football was going to start shortly and he had decided Sean would have to watch it with a sore arse. After all, the Netherlands were through already, so although Romania needed to win by more than either France or Italy to stay in the tournament, there was more riding on France Italy. But France’s form had been pretty dire, so really unless one believed in miracles, the France had met their Waterloo.
“You’re still dressed.”
“But …”
“I said you are still dressed,” Orlando’s tone was clipped. Sean stripped and knelt in his Master’s preferred position. It was good but not submissive enough. “Down, present your arse to me,” his very glorious arse, the very Rolls Royce of arses in fact.
“Yes Master,” despite the lure of the football, Sean knew better than to fight this. He knew Orlando wouldn’t let him miss the match. What he didn’t know were the details.
“Better…”
Orlando fetched a small paddle, shaped like a table tennis bat but covered in leather with holes in it. Used with the right amount of strength it stung like the devil.
This time Orlando made Sean count, something he didn’t do very often. He made him count and he made him wait, he slowly beat his boy into a frenzy. Sean hated it like this, each stroke hurt and it was too slow for him, he liked it faster, not so erratic and he begun to moan. The moaning helped.
“Beg … I know what you want but beg and do it good, you’ve had too much licence granted, you forget your place … you forget you are mine.”
The words helped Sean to focus, find a semblance of headspace. Even now, nearly ten years on, he was still amazed that he belonged to Orlando, that he wore Orlando’s collar.
“Please Master, please beat your slave hard, your slave know he’s fucked up, please help me, help him to find his place, please Master, please hurt me … please?”
“Good boy, that’s more like it…” Orlando was pleased and besides he just wanted To remind his boy, this was hardly a punishment. He could hear the Dutch national anthem being played and he beat Sean in time to it. Just the rhythm he liked, not too fast and at just the right strength. He was rewarded by the sight of Sean’s fine arse turning a lovely shade of red, rewarded by his moans, the moans of a boy who wanted to be fucked.
“You wanna miss the first part of the match?” this was the greatest test of all.
Sean whined. He wanted Orlando’s cock.
“Please Master, please fuck your boy but please Master, please can you, we do it quick?”
Orlando laughed.
“Yes boy, get up and get over the couch,” his back was twinging after last night’s sex on the table. He needed Sean’s arse at the right level.
“Master, yes Master,” Sean glanced at Orlando but said no more.
They were experts at fast sex, mainly due to their penchant for fucking where they might get caught and this was an occasion when an Olympic Bronze Medal would have been in order.
“Master, yes oh god yes, please, yes like that …” Sean didn’t need to be touched to come, not at this speed but he had his hand ready to catch the detritus of orgasm.
They came together, both groaning loudly, both sweating profusely.
“Oh god …” Orlando groaned. “You are still as tight as the first time I fucked you,” he kissed Sean’s shoulder. “Vite, vite, le match est whatever the French is for begun,” he chuckled and turned the TV over to BBC1, sat down and waited for Sean to get his breath.
They flicked back and forth a few times, keeping an eye on it, but although the Netherlands scored, it was too much of a foregone conclusion for Sean to stress too much, especially when he had a well fucked and very warm backside.
Netherlands 2-0 Romania